Old paths are such comforts. Losing them feels like losing the coziness of an old friendship.
Today we took a new path through the woods and got a bit lost. The familiar markers were gone and their comfort and clarity gone with them. That’s often the way with forging a trail—you get easily disoriented. But it is a bit more so for us right now.
The woods we walk through by our little Colorado cabin have been engulfed in a forest fire and are now just charred fields with black skeletal trees poking up from an ash floor.
So we don’t actually need a path any more because all the old obstacles are gone, the gorgeous pine trees and aspen groves are burned. We can walk pretty much where we want, although what we want is for this fire to never have happened. I didn’t want this change, I didn’t want this blasted new path. I want things the way they were.
My path through cancer was similar.