Down a Narrow Path

?? I stood under a bald tree (once rich with foliage) on a carpet of dry leaves in drought, and saw dreams litter the landscape like the dry bones in the valley—dead, dry, and forlorn. I gaped.??I tried to drop a tear, but could not. Not from a heart crusted by long nights of failed dew. Not while earth ached, baking; sun fumed, blazing, stripped rivers bare. Not with fishes gasping, cooking slowly in vanishing ponds now green with algae. No, not in the carnage by bitter winds. ??I thought of the blaze, and looked around for a shack, a shade, or a Jonah's shrub—to keep my dreams from drying in the pang of a dreary drought. Soon I saw a narrow path, too wide for a foot space, too tight for two. Cedars and oaks lined up on a drill on both sides. Weathered and wilting foliage hug overhead, sighing adieu in the hot wind while lean branches chimed in screeches. Leaves padded the path—not acquainted with footfalls, but with swells of parting tears. ??I plodded on under the matted fingers, hedged by twisted trunks. Spent, I sighted a distant wink shimmer, then flare; glow, then dim, luring my sure-footed plod. My strength surged with steady gaze, with rare hope of a life beyond the wink.??It was indeed a foggy path, but not a phantom future, stretching outside a desert filled with pants and puffs and gasps. Keeping a keen eye on the mirage, and with fair faith, I kept on till the wink turned into a lighthouse in a dark sea. I Sniffing the fragrance of a fresh life ahead, I chuckled. .? © Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi 06 February 2019