The Winding Road
By
Raymond R. Laliberte
It was a winding road up that lonely hill and he
walked it slowly and painfully. His breathing was
hard and labored, not used to exercise, and he
panted. But he deemed it a challenge, one to his
health, his body, and his mind. He was determined
to finish the walk and to reach the top. The air was
cool and a wind stirred the leaves of the pines and
birches. A cool wind rustled and made the trees
true sentinels on that road. It seemed they swayed
and touched their crowns, or just barely did so, and
talked. Did they discuss the traveler coming up the
road? There was nobody around but him
alone, walking up that hill, rosy-cheeked and
panting.
The clouds drifted aimlessly and yet
put up a shield to the warming sun. It seemed they
had a
mission that day: to obscure the sun, to make it
cool for the traveler, to make the breeze sing along
the birches and sway to and fro. A meadowlark
made its presence known, perhaps defying the
walker to approach her post, or perhaps welcoming
him to her meadow. To the twitter tweet of her call
came the answer from her mate in the branches of
a fir in the woods. The male flew in from the forest
and alighted on the branch, with its suppliant
posture. They greeted each other and flew off to
their nest for the night. The sun was setting quickly
now and the stranger reached the crest of the hill
now and was walking off the path to a fallen tree
where he sat down and rested. The sun had
outwitted the clouds and was now below them,
giving them a reddish hue, and the hills and
mountains beyond started to take on the royal
purple that was always their color at this time of
day. Now the trees and forests had colors of pink
and the meadows orange. Nobody ever saw this
sight, except for the man sitting down resting. He
had nowhere to go, but seemed content just sitting
there, admiring this spectacle before him. The man
got up abruptly and walked back to the road and
continued along the path which was now downhill
and which made his step quicker, perhaps because
it was downhill, or perhaps it was because of the
waning day, or maybe it was a combination of both.
The sun was now an enormous red ball, always
showing its last boastful sight at this time of day
before the earth swallowed it up. The man
disappeared down the road that curved into a
grove of white birch on either side. The last rays of
the sun were barely touching the treetops and the
surrounding countryside was becoming paler and
more somber, and o the east was a full moon slowly
rising, still faint from the sun's dying light. Beyond
the trees towards the lake came the sound of the
loons heading for the shores of the lake and to
their nests. The man was gone now and he was
nowhere in sight, perhaps too far from this meadow
where the lark had first greeted him, or perhaps he
was still in the area, but not visible in the
darkening woods.
Who was this man and where was he going? Is it
someone who dares to go down a path where
nobody has been or rarely goes? What a sight, the
trees in the forests, the sun, wind, birds, sounds of
the forests, etc. It was Nature's gift to that man
alone. The moon was more and more visible now
and filled the sky with light. The sun was down and
the purples and reds of the forests and meadows
were almost black now. Around the bend of white
birch where the man had last been seen ran a
brook at first along the road and then disappeared
underneath the path and re-emerged on the other
side of the path, which was forded at this point by a
stone bridge. The water was hardly visible, but
audible as it gurgled its way through brush and
stones and fallen branches. Just past the old bridge
came the faint sound of panting. It was the man
again. He was still there on the road winding to the
left away from the stream, then to the right
towards it. On the right of the man were the
watchful eyes of the forest. A white tail and his doe
and fawn were emerging from the forest toward the
road, the buck leading, cautious and sniffing the air
around him. His mate and deerling were more
cautious and held back to the shelter of the forest.
The man heard the snap of twigs, looked to his
right, and quickened his pace. He seemed
frightened in this strange wood, on this lonely road
at night. He was rushing now and panting more
heavily. He was frightened! The forest seemed
alive now with sounds and noises that were foreign
to him. It was no longer the familiar sounds of
chirping birds, rustling leaves, creaking branches,
gurgling waters, but rather sounds he could not
recognize
The hooting of an owl made him stop, turn around,
and
holding his breath, he looked in the direction he
had just come from and then after a few moments,
let out an audible gasp. He turned toward the
direction he was going and continued his walk.
He had seen the light of a farm in the distance
minutes ago and he was making his way towards it.
The light of
the moon guided him along the path and he
kept to the center of it, not sure of what might be
to his right or to his left. He heard the gurgling of
the stream again which had been a companion to
the right off and on. As he approached the farm on
his right, he let out a sigh of relief. Another hooting
owl made him turn quickly to his left and as he did,
he could hear the rustling of the almost silent
predator's wings gliding through the leaves of the
branches of the trees in the forest. He turned back
to the road and continued, his pace almost a run
now. He left the forest road and started up the
small path leading to the farm, the light from the
window in one of the rooms guiding him and
beckoning him forward. He approached the house
and went to the door and before knocking, he
stepped on the mat at his feet that had dark letters
scribbled there that read "Welcome Weary
Traveler". It seemed to have been put out there
just for him. He opened the door. The old door
creaked its heavy weight on the rusty old hinges
and he stepped into the room, lit by the dancing
flames in the fireplace.
There was a pot hanging by the hearth, steaming
and giving the room a pleasant odor of vegetables
and meat. He walked in past the comfortable old
sofa with the old quilt draped over one end of the
comfortable old seat, past the old armchair, and
went to the cabinet to take out a bowl and saucer.
He then went over to the pot, took off the lid and
ladled some of the contents unto his plate. He went
back to the cabinet and took out a silver spoon
from the middle drawer, went over to the chair on
the side of the fireplace, sat down and began to eat.
He took out some freshly-baked bread from the
bread warmer and soaked it in the broth of the
stew and ate happily. From another room, he could
hear the heavy steps of the woman coming to the
living room. Rosy-cheeked and with a smile on her
face, the heavy little woman walked over to the
man, kissed him on the cheek, and walked back
into the bedroom. He was home after a long walk.