Comfortably Numb

Sheila Kumar's Storehouse

Published on: 04/24/15 8:58 AM

Photo Feature: Paths…


 All photos by Sheila Kumar. All images are subject to copyright.

  These are tracks, bridle paths and trails I took on a recent holiday in the Kumaon foothills.






We each are on a journey
Each journey has a path
As we travel to our futures
We carry the knowledge of our pasts.We each leave a trail behind us
Which twists and turns it so
And though alone we may feel small
As one we make one whole.Our footprints are already left before us
As we take each one newly step-by-step
They were laid out ahead of us
Before our journeys begun.For to The One there is no time before or after
There is only His will done
So we step in our own footprints
Where we have never stood our feet before.We all look up to the holy Sun
And turning away from one another, all follow its shining light
Though we seem in different directions to travel
Our destination is the same.For though our faces face not eachother
And our feet do run fleetingly depart
Our paths are ever crossing
As in our travels we hope in the Sun.Yes, our paths are ever crossing
Each and every tiny one
For though we may feel alone and seperated
Our paths are all part of the one whole picture
A weaving painting of the Son.Alice Affi.


There`s a path
that leads to Nowhere
In a meadow that I know,
Where an inland island rises
And the stream is still and slow;
There it wanders under willows,
And beneath the silver green
Of the birches’ silent shadows
Where the early violets lean.
Other pathways lead to Somewhere,
But the one I love so well
Has no end and no beginning—
Just the beauty of the dell,
Just the wind-flowers and the lilies.
Corinne Roosevelt Robinson

Thoughtful and timeless, no tangibility.
Laughing with friends, letting things be.
Absorbing a sunset, much color in opaque.
Simple and earthy, a rainbow’s soft touch.
Options are endless, secret trails reveal much.
Closing my eyes and feeling life near;
walking a line, wanting me clear.
Knowing I am loved;  just hearing the wind.
These are the paths I choose to befriend.
Julie Buck. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost

Alice Affibridle pathsCorrine Roosevelt Robinsonfoothillsforest treksforestsJulie BuckKumaonpathspoemspoetryRobert Frost

Sheila Kumar • April 24, 2015

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