#writephoto: The road less travelled

#writephoto

I took the road less travelled and it was an appallingly bad idea.

There’s a reason the other path is more travelled.

Crows don’t have to slog through snow and hedgerows to get where they want to go. Listening to them cawing “Nevermore” above me in laughter did nothing to improve my mood.

At a certain point in every journey you must commit.

I committed.

Nothing was going to stand in my way. I was in 100%. In gorgeous, hand-stitched suede boots.

I stood under the roof of the trees as they whispered, placing bets on my tenacity. I was not going to let some gossiping leaves get the best of me. No. It was too late.

I stepped forward, sank ankle deep in snow and cursed the Gods. I strode bravely (I thought, but if you were watching you might have confused my movements with drunk on his way home from the pub).

I made it to the shelter of a stunted little oak, which promptly dropped its coat of snow on my head, down my neck to drip in slow torture down my back. Bugger this for a lark. Cold, wet and grumpy, I remained on course.

The last hurdle loomed before me as I made it into the home stretch. The hedge.

The hedge of hell.

The hedge of horror.

The hedge of my downfall.

I fought the hedge and the hedge won.


 

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