It’s not a wide path
and it’s not straight.
Thorns and underbrush
tear at your clothing,
the ground rough with stones,
in some places bog.
Once in a while
you break out
to the bend of a river
where you stand clear
on a cobbled beach
or on the tip of a ridge
where the surround
of mountains
and forest green
come into view.
Those are moments of joy
and you store them
like dried fruit
in the depth of your pack.
Then you walk on,
not looking back,
with faith that somewhere
in the unknown distance
the village of belonging
will welcome you home.

photograph by Brenda Jenkins
Reading of “In the Unknown Distance” with music by Bonnie Raitt