Walking the Path

by Alonna Freerksen

Waves crash from the distant sea shore. The young child walks along the path made by the feet of people who wore down the grass before their parents were born. The clouds are white and bright, and the child hums a low soothing tune, counting the steps.

One, two, three…

A boat horn blows in the distance and the child looks over at the huge ship covering their ears from its flamboyant cry. But the child knew to not linger, the mountain was straight ahead and they needed to get home in time for dinner, and hoped for no rain. The clouds are white and bright, the sky slowly turning black, and the child hums a low soothing tune, counting their steps.

Four, five, six…

The path starts to incline as the child climbs up, starting their true adventure up the mountain. There are wild berries and flowers growing all around. Their stomachs growls, and they take a few safe ones for the road. Wild berries taste delicious all the way up here. The clouds are fading away, the sky is turning black, the berries are staining their face, and the child hums a low soothing tune, counting their steps with the wind blowing through their hair.

Seven, eight, nine..

The house is getting closer as the path levels out. The journey is almost over now. The wild berries are gone. I think it's starting to rain.

Drip, Drip, Drip

It actually feels quite nice. It's time to keep going as the stars light up the sky, the child’s stomach grows louder. The journey was pretty long and if they look back behind them they can see the ocean down below the seagull laughing not so far away and the boat has left for the night to come again another day. The scent of sea salt has long been replaced with the smell of the fresh cool air. The clouds are all gone, the sky is now pitch black with little white stars dancing across the sky, the berries are all gone, the juice has fully stained their skin, and the child counts the final steps as the rain and wind play in their hair.

Ten, eleven, twelve…

The child opens up the door. Their mother and father are there sitting at the table. A big pot of food sits in between them still steaming hot, and the child's stomach growls but it won’t stay that way for long.