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 It is curious, sometimes, the path we find ourselves on.  There are times in my life, and not infrequently, where I wonder how I ended up where I am, who I am.  The path ahead leaves few distinct clues.  Those it does leave, the signs I interpret as having meaning for my own path — “Sidewalk Trail” — end up as a sign meant for someone else.  There is sometimes apprehension.  I look down the path and wonder how far it continues for me.  I cannot see its end, yet it could be just out of my sight.  Will I be prepared to travel that path, the one whose end could be near.  Or perhaps the larger question, will I be prepared to continue on to places not familiar, figures unknown, no end in sight.  Does the path even end, even when it ends?

I realize I cannot prepare and there are too many questions to be answered.  I know that I must step forward.  Standing still is not an option.  The path magically moves beneath my feet, as if the genie is its pilot, and I move forward regardless of my desire, at times, to remain statuesque.

I wish I could see what’s up there.

I’m glad I can’t see what’s up there.

I’ll just keep moving on the path.