Two Paths: A Time Worn Metaphor

No amount of Robert Frosting seems to be pointing me in either direction. Neither appears as the proverbial road less traveled. I see no elfin sprites lurking left or right. Neither hints at being either the high or the low road and if they did how would I know which is my direction? Today I shall resort to divination just short of reading entrails but somewhere beyond mere rational thought.

I suppose in the greater scheme of things this matters not so much, but for my immediate future both geographically and existentially... these are very different paths that diverge quite quickly in the forest of the near future.

I know, I know; what the hell are you talking about?

I have said often that I can write from anywhere on the road or not. The laptop travels better than I do, but my most recent story/book is actually set on the road of my current travels. Chapters and scenes are literally unfolding as I move about the country. Now, however, I have another possibility that would anchor me in Berkeley for some unforeseen chunk of time. While that conflicts with my travelogue muse, I can indeed write anywhere and as Amy has mentioned in her most recent brain dump blog, the Matusow screenplay is now back on the radar and perhaps even on final approach.

So I find myself at the fork in the road, where I have not been in a very long time, I wonder why there isn't a bench here for the weary traveler to rest and contemplate which path to tread next. And why does this big black cat keep walking on my keyboard? I did mention divination, didn't I.

[To avoid the google search that I have tweaked with my overmetaphorizing, here is the quote:

Two Roads Diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken]

photo credit: cashill.com