Failed apocalypse

It was the fields behind the farmhouse - a dreamy, mythical, apocalyptic light that photos absolutely don't and can't capture. I looked at the trees in the distance; they were floating in a light mist pierced by the sun's rays, and behind this natural gateway, we could make out a field, other trees, all the way to the horizon. I thanked God for leading me there, and we crossed the barrier of trees. All was silent, and with the light so intense, it seemed as if the world was about to let us in on a secret. But there was just one more field. We returned to the car.

The Lower Way

Walk along the bike path this morning. The weather was mild, everything was peaceful and comforting. A Sunday morning walk like I've always liked. For the first time I realized that there was ANOTHER path, parallel to the one I use like every walker, paved, well cleared, wedged between the railroad (inaccessible, fenced) and thick, inextricable thickets. This other path is located below, behind the thickets; it is almost invisible but very real. It is dark, unused, the more one advances, the more the hedges and the intertwined shrubs, with the tortuous, clawed, threatening branches, prohibit the entry to the curious ones. But it is incredibly attractive. One suspects that it leads to dark but unseen things. It is almost an unintentional metaphor, in the landscape, of the two paths a man can take in his life.