It feels like I am walking uphill.
The stones, the sands, the thorns, the spikes, the dust, the dirt – how can a path be so unpaved? I raise my gaze and spot the pot. As I drag my exhausted body, I keep my eye on the pot that dangles up above. It slowly swings this way and that way at a paced rate. There is a hole at the bottom of the pot, it is leaking and like a scattered shower, the golden liquid sprinkles all over to make a showery drizzle. So, I turn my lightly-damp body away, I am about to abandon this puzzling, ragged expedition.
But out of the blue, a tiny drop lands on my nose.My hands are full of life’s baggage and my fingers are filthy so I can only use my tongue to lick it off.
I stretch my tongue until it hurts underneath
I gently curl it upwards and the tip taps the droplet
In haste, I taste the liquid.
I stop, I think.
It is sweet
It is soft
It is tasty
It is tasty
It is honey
I ponder.
Which of the two deserve my attention the most: the pot of honey that idly dangles at the top of the hill or the unpaved path that lies in motion ahead. Perhaps, it is intertwined; and inseperable.
Talk about choices, how testing they are . . . !
#prompted options#
Leave a Reply