ehowton (ehowton) wrote,
ehowton
ehowton

Footprints


I dreamed I was walking along the beach, and across the sky flashed scenes from my life.

For each scene I noticed various footprints in the sand. Some were individual, presumably my own. In other scenes I would be joined by one or more.

Some paralleled mine closely, others from a distance. There were perpendicular ones too. Some were straight and narrow, others showed an unsteady gait.

As I rose higher into the sky from these visions and began mentally piecing the scenes together, linking my path of footprints chronologically into an Earth-sized collage, patterns began to form.

My own trail of footprints was never broken, nor were those of the many I have interacted with over the course of my life.

Sometimes those I met would walk with me, or I with them, when our paths brought us together for a duration. Invariably, we would part ways as would be appropriate for a lifetime-length cosmic journey.

Some were parallel longer than others, some were just a chance meeting, no more than a skip; anonymous lovers for but a moment.

The patterns revealed that we were all interwoven with one another when viewed from a distance greater than eye-level, and some sets of footprints never really departed, rather skirted back around from time to time in a lazy circle.

Even from this altitude I could make out the scenes from my life and was astonished to discover how I remember feeling at any given time didn't seem to match what was actually transpiring - my judgment had been understandably myopic.

I descended back down and stepped at the head of my footprints in the untouched sand, creating a new pair. Looking around me, everything I saw was once again limited to my own perspective.

But I now understood it now to be only a partial truth. I would run this time, not walk - and would embrace everyone I came in contact with, no matter how briefly - for it mattered not who they were or what role they played, they would forever be a part of my fabric, and I, theirs.
Tags: dreams, poem
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 8 comments