The PathA narrow road lies before me.Laid with cobblestone and weathered brickWeathered with time.As I begin the journeyI notice thorn bushes on either side.In some places they have grown overand meet just barely above my head.This path is unclear, and I don’t know where it is taking me.But I keep walking.Sometimes the thorns jut outlike small daggers into my skin,drawing blood to fall on the cobblestone beneath my feet.My eyes drop and I noticesmall drops left from others ahead.I draw comfort in knowing that I am not the first to travel here.I learn to duck and weave,and the old scratches heal.I think I am so smart because I can now walk faster with less pain.As I sit down to rest,I find a small silver blade in my pocket.I’ve always had it, but somehow itseemed easier to bob and weave. And toleave the thorns where they grew.But the path grew narrower, and wasbecoming harder and harder to walk.I couldn’t keep goingwith the thick brush and thorns surrounding me.So I picked up that blade, and started swinging.Forget status quo, forget trying topass through without leaving change.I have a path to walk.Some days the thorns will taunt me,asking how I can be so cruel. Theydo not understand that my path is only clearwhen they are removed.And when I get tiredI sit down and bandage my fingers.For the first timeI look backand realizemy path is not only mine.And I have smoothed the way for many more to come.It makes me wishI would have started cutting sooner!This path lies before me.And I am still walking.One thing is different though.Today I see that growing withthose thorns are beautiful roses.And my cutting has become more careful.On this path, I am still walking.