Forget the Maybe

Quiet pavement means cars sneak by at fifty miles per hour. Exhilarating, as I walk in such a way so as to be intentionally surprised. Walk the white line between traffic flow and the ditch line. Plugged in to music mostly muffling the engines of automobiles. Songs singing, playing musical messages - more than empty entertainment. I am spoken to and am relating back - pondering present with every step. Guitars and keyboards play the background to this thinking session. I am fortunate to have such a distance to travel. I notice the clean blackness of smooth new pavement and realize my need for sealing and surfacing. I see my ruts so easily stuck in, but I don't have cones and flaggers to control the traffic in my mind. Maybe I'll stay away from the rutted roads and dodge off the shoulder to the path less taken, and I'll find it's travelers - my friends - and move along with my minority gang going gung-ho against the flow. Maybe I won't say maybe.

Forget the maybe.