The unrecognized path

The road is long,
with many a winding turn,
that leads us to who knows where,
who knows where…

Ah, the two Bobs, they knew how to write a ballad – my mum used to sing that one to me when I was a baby, although she always preferred the Neil Diamond version over The Hollies. This road I’m on certainly is a long one, but there sure ain’t no winding turns. Straight as a bloody arrow – walking for who knows how long and to where is anyone’s guess. There’s stuff strewn all along the sides too, the orange covered record with Neils face on it is what set off the song in my head, it was there, just discarded on the road along with a few other records, and some baby toys – a ‘my first’ curl box.

Man my feet are numb, I think I had boots, and socks when I started this walk – all that’s left are some tattered white elastic around my ankles. I wish I remembered why I set out on this mission of a walk – did my car break down a few thousands miles behind me or something!?

A little toy stuffed elephant, seems strangely familiar.

Hup, two, three, four,
Keep it up, two, three, four,
Oh, the aim of our patrol,
Is a question rather droll,
For to march and drill,
Over field and hill..

My dad used to sing that to me, to get me to sleep – prancing around the bedroom just like the colonel in the movie – clear as day I can remember it.

All this stuff, everywhere.. it’s all mine, or was mine. I’m walking my life, the things here, they are my memories, but I’m going backwards, if I’ve been walking for so long already, and I’m here, with these memories, then I must be close to the end of the path, the end of the road.

There’s my first blanket, bright pink with a little rabbit on, they were told I was going to be a girl! Late night painting of the well-prepared in advance nursery from pink to blue, my dad hardly slept for weeks.

And ahead, a clearing, the path is closing – so what’s next, I feel those precious memories slipping away, the sound of my dad gasping with joy in the delivery room as he cuts the cord, my mums relief there were no complications. A flash of white light, something scraping my head, voices, lights, not my dad, but it is, it is now, words, thoughts, fading.. crying.

This writing prompt is in response to

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