I made my way over to the stables to fetch Dandi, and we began a journey that I both longed for and feared.
But I could not help looking back and wondering whether this was the right road to take.
Perhaps, one day, time and reflection will tell.
We passed through the Combe gate and turned northward on the road. As we came into Combe and passed by the stablemen seeing to the horses’ feed for the day, I realized that it had been too long since I had been back home. Memories of journeys made along these same paths, of when I was a little girl helping father to bring the harvest to market, washed over me.
It is striking how one can set foot within their footprints of old, with time being the only dimension to have changed, and that one dimension alone works to change so much.
Yet all of my journeys home in the days since have been more or less the same.
Hopes of the village being rebuilt, of green fields growing with the promise of the bountiful harvest that lies ahead remain unfulfilled. Visions of children playing once again in the Springtime sun, that everyone has left that day behind them and surfaced from the depths of despair that held them fast, have not yet come to pass.
Our pace slowed to a crawl as I pondered these things with the hope that, perhaps, this journey would be different. But I knew in my heart that it would not be. As darkness fell, and I finally approached the northern gate that led to Archet and its surrounding fields and farms, it came to me…
The thing about reflections is that the reflection does not change unless we change…
…for hopes to be fulfilled, for visions to come to pass, I must work to bring about that change.
I must take aim at the waters of the reflecting pool, that those waters may be disturbed…
…even if it means that something may be lost.
Slowly we wound down the trail leading home, but we stopped before reaching the gate.
Let what is to come begin tomorrow. I would lose myself to reflections past one last time.