paths of Green-wood cemetery

I crave the meditative aspect of walking the paths alone. I get lost. I clear my mind. I imagine something new. I have to GPS my way out.

Path is the way we choose.

Path is the way we’ve come.

Whether we chose it, or others have chosen for us, it’s been our path.

Path is our way to work each day

Path is taking the stairs up to the eighth floor.

Path is getting lost in the cemetery during a walking meditation.

Path is the line on a map as crooked as it might be to get from one place to the next.

How much control do we have over the paths we take?

Path is the route the water takes to find the lake, the ocean, another river. Some manmade. Others find their own way.

Paths are woven between monuments.

We alter our path in order to merge with some and avoid others.

Where is the end of our path? The cemetery? Or does the path continue even in memory? Or legacy?

Walking paths, roads, bike paths, trails, flight paths and railroad tracks.

A song, a story, a movie, a narrative. Beginning, a climax, an ending. Finally, the story lives in our memories.

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