6:30 AM. 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Humidity 84%.Cold blooded Athena rumbles her complaints but knows we must be moving on. Another waystation ahead. Will there be shelter? Will there be dry warmth where the two of us can recover from the elements?
One never knows for sure when the next safe waystation may be. In this cold, harsh world, one must have faith in ones' friends and that the next stop will welcome the chilly, wet, tired rider. When a friend or waystation with open arms is found, they must be remembered, savored and held close to the heart, lest they be lost forever in a sea of mediocraty and ambivalence.
4 comments:
I am familiar with this feeling. :)
beautiful razor
ok I got to ask, whats a waystation?
Big Al
Thanks mq.
Ann, I imagine many of us are.
Big Al! Well, a waystation is a place to stop for provisions, repairs, lodging and food for long journeys. That's the loose 'razor' definition anyway. I was recently reading of the Mongols (Asian, not motorcycle club) and how they would travel great distances, stopping at waystations to change horses and keep moving. Not a word one sees everyday, that is for sure.
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