Roads, like ambition, can creep as well as soar. As he reached the top of the Rest, by the long low road, the runner noticed the higher road was blocked with traffic lights, lorries, caravans....... and sheep. Little stubborn, filthy sheep who insisted on hanging about in the verges of that miserable highway, content it seemed to eke out a living among the oil soiled grasses, and the petrol fumes, rather than head downhill where the air was clear and the grass safe.
How curious it was, then, that both roads led to exactly the same place anyway.
And in that place, our friend stopped to rest. He was still heading west, just like the heavy horse told him, but there was no sign, yet, of the particular kind of circus he had hoped for.
No comments:
Post a Comment