lights that guide the way to destinies untold
The path is there, somewhere.
Or so they tell me.
I suspect it is a gentle lie to strengthen my belief.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes I can trust that there is a path set out for me to find.
Obscured in thorn-laced wildflowers and twisting vines.
Hazardous to navigate.
I believe in the lampposts more than I believe in the path.
Because I can see them in the dark.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.