I remember hearing about ink trails, a line behind you that tracks everywhere you’ve been, dark and thick for repeated journeys but with thinner loops for out of the usual special trips. I’ve walked the route to work nearly every day for years, that path must be soaking in ink, written deep into the surface of my existence. The reason for most journeys starts at the end of the route, travelling to get somewhere for a purpose or to achieve something at that location. I travel to work to be at work, to do my work. The walk is nice some days, but I don’t drag myself out of the house to go for a walk. A pilgrimage is different, the journey is the purpose, the route has an importance steeped in history and belief, and every step has meaning. I might not know yet exactly why I want to go – a barely formed mix of gratitude and a wish for peace, to leave the rest of the world behind for a little while and focus inwards – but it’s important to me that I do go. The way is before me now and I’m ready to start walking.
anything could happen 