Many mysteries hang like fog, around that track.
Lost in the journey forward, with no chance of finding the way back.
Only whispers of legends and triumphs, no evidence remains.
Many speak of the treasures that taking the path may gain.
Not a road most traveled, not the easiest path.
Up along there I can see bright flowers and the greenest of grass.
Steep and winding and shrouded with trees.
Heads into the mountains, with the smell of a sheer cliff breeze.
One step after another, how all journeys take place.
Into the future I step, upward my gaze.
© Deon Heemskerk 9-11-2012