Beauty and Value in Struggle
Am I really on the other side? The air is fresher, my legs ache less, my arms freer, and my mind more clear. The gravel crunches under me as I trod along, my feet moving in their unique, steady stride, even the ground is less resistant. My hands grip the straps which come over my shoulders holding my now lighter pack. My backdrop is painted with ominous clouds dancing in the sky. Far-off drums the storm, the shouts therein fading. Tossing a gaze behind, I gasp: the colors of deep purples, maroons, grays, oranges and pinks plum, mysterious with beauty and treasure. Filled with wonder, I turn my gaze. I'm thankful to see the bright sky ahead. Remaining drops of rain wiggle and fall away with each new step. In my pocket a few small stones roll about, smooth and rough; my thumb and fore-fingers feel for them. Each from my not-so favorite places, albeit significant. Have I really come through, to this new place? Do I really feel joy? The struggle was so dark and dee