{"id":36,"date":"2012-12-07T14:34:00","date_gmt":"2012-12-07T14:34:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/?p=36"},"modified":"2012-12-07T14:34:00","modified_gmt":"2012-12-07T14:34:00","slug":"the-unpaved-path","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/?p=36","title":{"rendered":"The unpaved path"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
\nIt feels like I am walking uphill.  <\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThe 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.  <\/span><\/span>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, <\/span>the golden liquid sprinkles all over to make a showery drizzle.  <\/span>So, <\/span>I turn my lightly-damp body away, I am about to<\/span> abandon this puzzling, <\/span>ragged expedition.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/a>But out of the blue, a tiny drop lands on my nose.<\/span>
\nMy hands are full of life’s baggage <\/span>and my fingers are filthy so I can only use my tongue to lick it off.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI stretch my tongue until it hurts underneath<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI gently <\/span>curl it upwards and the tip taps the droplet<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIn haste, <\/span>I taste the liquid.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
\nI stop, I think.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nIt is sweet <\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
\nIt is soft<\/span>
\nIt is tasty<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
\nIt is honey<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI ponder.<\/o:p><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWhich of the two deserve my attention the most: the pot of honey that idly <\/span>dangles at the top of the hill or the unpaved path that lies in motion <\/span>ahead. <\/span>Perhaps, it is intertwined; and inseperable.<\/span><\/p>\n

Talk about choices, how testing they are . . . !
#prompted options#<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-36","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=36"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=36"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=36"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordsonsoil.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=36"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}