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Searching for a Metaphor
by Chase D. Cartwright I was going to church when the leaves had changed. They were no longer the impenetrable wall of green. No, now they were the striking orange and red that set fire to the lake beneath them. I had mistakenly remembered that church started at 8 a.m. when it actually started at 8:30; and with a thirty minute drive home, I decided to walk through the park and admire the leaves before attending my service. The air stung my lungs with its cold breeze which kept most other park patrons inside and left me in my solitary contemplation. Walking into the tree line, I disappeared from the world watching the smoke pulse from my lips into the cold morning air. The fallen leaves cracked under the clacking of my square leather church shoes. The birds echoed in the air and the branches scratched against each other in the beautiful polyphonic orchestra. I came to the first fork in the walkway and I thought about Robert Frost and his road less traveled. The paths in front of me were both identically paved and covered in crushed brown leaves, and as much as I would have loved the beauty of finding the path less traveled, I did not find any such sublime metaphor. Instead, I simply chose the path that led to the lake (I always enjoyed watching the perfectly still water –like glass—before the wind picked up and disturbed the reflections. Ahead of me, was an old boat dock that was breaking and sagged almost underwater in the middle. The mold stained boards creaked under my wait as I took a seat at the end of the dock. This particular park is in the middle of the city, but somehow the lake’s perimeter blocks out the noise of the interstate and the smell of the dog food plant across town. No, in this exact spot, the world disappeared. It was silent here. All you could see was the withering lilly pads and the squirrels scurrying across the fields. My phone assured me that I didn’t lose myself too much. The neon screen read 8:10 –plenty of time to get back in time for mass. So I moved on and returned to the paved walkway admiring the long grass and folded flowers. There was an older woman walking her dog. She struck me odd as she was somehow unperturbed by the cold weather like some kind of fearless traveler. Does she think the same about me, I wonder. I passed her with my typical ‘hello’ and moved my head down to avoid any further conversation. She returned the favor with her ‘good morning’ and kept moving down the pavement. The pavement bended and in front of me stood wall of tress enveloping the walkway and blocking sight from any further steps. I had walked these paths many times, but this was somehow different. It felt like I had been here for my entire life. Like this was the only place I knew; that anything away from this walkway was false and just a projection on a screen that I had been watching for my whole life. I moved into the shadows of the trees again and knew that around this curve in the road the trees cleared and revealed the entirety of the lake and overlooked the prairie fields. I checked my phone: 8:15. Time to walk back and go to church. I pivoted around and walked along the asphalt with a hurried gait and my head down watching my feet with my hands in my pockets as they had gone numb long ago. I saw the woman I had crossed earlier. She must have assumed that I was lost since I was walking back the same path that I had come, but I did not know how to correct her so I tried avoiding any comments. To no avail, she noticed me and said, “You’re going to miss the prettiest part.” I responded, “Moses never reached the promised land either.” She didn’t laugh. |
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