Painting the Picture - My 500 Words D11

Painting the picture….

I finally decided to go for a walk in the woods. I needed to clear my head. I have been wrestling with my next step for so long, I have not left the house in days. I have barely eaten and my mind has been raising for aslong as I  can recall. I put my brown spring jacket and headed out of the door. Outside, the air was crips; not cold enough for a heavy jacket but enough to feel the temprature change when inhaling the air. I felt the cold rush to my lungs and a finally thought about something other than my future. I started my journey, I focused on what was infront of me and  my mind  began to settle.  

I am a creature of habbit, and I always take the same path when I go for a walk. Today, I decided to try a different path. I steps out side as the sun was begining to set. I made everything outside seem like it has been dusted with gold. It was a beautiful afternoon. I a came ot a  bend on th epath I say sunrays coming through the trees. It was like God was illuminating my path to a peaceful place to think about my life. Among the pine trees I realized that I had been working my mind into a frenzy. All I needed to do was contemplate my options one at a time. I am lucky enough that my worst problem is selecting my next step from three great options. I am grateful for the opportunities in front of me. But in this moment, I am most thankful for this path and the sunset.

I had been on the road traveling for business for a month. In my last stop a business associate suggested a bed and breakfast in the country side. After so many hotels, valet parking, room services, polite people who could careless why I am their establishment this bed and breakfast sounded like a great idea. The place was ran by a wonderful older couple. They had owned the business for 20 years. They shared great stories of past guest. I wondered where those people where today and what were they doing there.

My room was small but comfortable. It had a queen size bed with very soft pillow top matters. I felt like I sank six inches when I laid down. It had a small fireplace with block rod iron screen. Next to the bed there was a small antique white desk. On top there was a letter from the owners thank patrons for the visit. On the top drawer there was a journal where past guest left messages. There were stories of newlyweds, people who came to celebrate anniversaries, people who came to remember loved ones after they passed. There were so many lives at my fingertips. I was so glad I came here.

I had to leave early the next morning. The morning fog was thick. I as I carefully drove down the street I saw a single leafless tree, a lonely landmark in a long quite road. I could not see anything past the tree. I suddenly found myself wondering if any of the other guests had left back to their regularly scheduled lives on a foggy day. I thought about all the stories this quaint blue Victorian home must have. I prayed for all of the people who traveled this road.