All the Difference
When no one wants to love or live with you, you can always live in the woods in a box of a house, and when your mind grows so light in your head, as it will, that daylight looks gray, you can always walk out in the rain where gray sky is at least a higher ceiling, and of course you'll go to two forking paths smothered in slick yellow maple and birch leaves, and for a change you can always choose the narrow stony one instead of the wide easy old logging road, but right away brambles will be grabbing at your rain gear, leaves will brush across your face soaking your collar, and you'll have to watch your feet for roots, instead of enjoying nature like Thoreau did all by himself, while a drab sparrow will keep chittering just ahead of you, annoying you with its consistent stupidity, and you'll begin to realize mossy lumps off in the trees you thought were firewood some farmer of simpler times forgot to sled home are really dumped washing machines, gutted car parts, and middens of rusty cans, and before too long you'll come to a clutch of ramshackle trailers just yards to the right of the trail, ending all illusions of wilderness, with two slavering pit bulls, savagely straining at you on flimsy swing set chains, and just beyond that clearing you'll come upon a muddy patch littered with brown paper sacks and aerosol cans and condoms of various garish hues will start popping up on twigs like trail markers of your own spent passions, so you'll pause to reconnoiter next to the words "fuck you" carved in tender beech bark, to reconsider the journey's parable, when your heavy mind and heart come together to perceive and understand you've gone too far down this dirt track to turn back, a road less ambled by philosophers than by men who come to shoot guns at empty beer cans and chirping songbirds, but what will make all the difference, standing in that epiphany, are wet and cold feet, until you'll notice that as you were bushwhacking evermore blindly toward that end where all paths, hard or easy, end, rain had ceased unnoticed, and at any moment then the sky will crack open and sunshine will pour down upon you, as yellow and warm as it beams on houses clamoring with mirth and love.