This past weekend consisted of fishing at sunset,
hiking up a mountain and embracing nature,
taking breaks along the way,
and enjoying the view from the top.
Two different paths lead up to the tip of the mountain and we randomly chose one. The hike was harder than we expected; it was really more of a climb in most parts and we went down the other side, which ended up being 100 times easier. I'm sure there's some deep symbolism in choosing the harder path that leads to the same spectacular view? All I could think about was this poem:
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Perhaps Robert Frost was right.
Or perhaps we were just ill-prepared hikers who {thankfully} made it to the top without rolling back down the steep and treacherous rocks.
