Notes on travelling

Being the first traveler means always being the first to worry.

You worry about that slippery slope you once climbed.
You worry about the thorny bush that turned your feet raw.
You worry about the violent cold river you struggled in.
You worry about the tree’s dark shadows that haunted you even in your sleep.
You worry about the treacherous weather that seemed to plot against you.
You worry about the sharp crystal like rocks.
You worry about the stringy vines that almost strangled you in your confusion.
You worry about the large boulder you had to leave everything behind to climb over.

People look at you and with a smug face tell you to take it easy, with a pat on the bag tell you to let things be, with a wave of the hand tell you to take care of yourself.

But you worry, like you did when you first walked out, like you always will, as long as you are walking.

You worry that the tracks you left were too dark to follow.