Prompt: Picture of a dirt bike parked next to a trail. Caption was "Where to next?"
Where to next?
Where to next?
It's a good question,
a reasonable question,
asked by someone who knows me well,
They know I won't stay rooted for more than a few years.
I used to stay longer
But, well, I'm older,
I no longer have the luxury of overstaying
a bit
just because I can.
I don't have
enough years left.
Where to next?
I'm not sure,
I sometimes think about it
But I know it isn't time.
Where or when?
It's usually a feeling
that decides it's time
and searches for a place.
And then
an opportunity presents itself
and I'm afraid that if I let it pass me by
It won't come back again.
That's not an unreasonable fear.
I was stationary for too many years.
It was my choice
and maybe not so much my choice.
Family.
My family.
A husband,
children,
a house we called a home.
The question of where to next
wasn't about a physical place,
then.
It was a question for the future,
a question I couldn't answer
because it wasn't the right time.
A question I asked myself
when I was in a bad place.
Now I ask the same question
because I am in a good place.
Where to next?
