The Ancient Way

There is a lonely path that wends its way through places forlorn and regions forsworn to a forgotten end.
The self-wise and politic masses daily pass it by, secure in the sage opinion of this progressive age.
They disdain the archaic way, that is, if they deign to notice it at all.
More often it sits both untrodden and unseen.
Yet the lost road has not lost all its magic. Its power is hidden, like the ancient stones obscured by plants both verdant and vibrant; though shabby they may seem to some.
Those venerable stones still call out with voices soft and deep.
They speak of mystery, and days gone by, of the feet that have worn them smooth; the feet of wise kings, and simple beggars, of noble knights and wild hermits, of saints unlikely all.
They were seekers of destiny on the fateful path to a destination now but legend.
Mere legend says the modern man, as though it that were something small. Indeed, it is too big to fit within the confines of his small world, it is of little use in his pursuit of progress.
Forward! Cries the mob, and onward they rush through their enlightened darkness.
Though their road is fateful too, though their destination speaks less of legend and more of doom.

The ancient way sits silent by. The still air sometimes stirred by breaths of wind that come and go, though whence we do not know.
Breaths they be of life and peace to pilgrims on the path.
Through sun bathed meadow, and mist shrouded wood the lost road leads them on.
The hoary trees keep mysteries that seldom modern minds have plumbed, beneath their shaded canopy hidden from all but those who seek with lover’s zeal and thus do prove their worth.

A traveler would you be? And walk with me upon the way? Then boldly tread and follow in those archaic steps of the men who went before. Learn by their struggles and by their vision see. Find ancient life that is newer than now, and feast on the food of mystery.