Sometimes the heaviest locks open the deepest truths.
***
Yesterday, despite the pain in my back, I visited the quiet little town of Sunnyfield and strolled its tiny main street—so short it felt like only a few footsteps.
At the end of it, I found myself in front a weathered wooden door fastened with a rusted iron bolt.
That door seemed less like an object and more like a symbolic message. It spoke of how quickly life can change, how suddenly certain paths become closed and it reminded me that the time has come to lay aside the illusion of being fine and to accept the truth of my limitations.
Generally, life is good.
