Where is my tickey? Isn't it strange that I had to get to the end
of the road to be able to see the start? A road that never ends and
where a stop is only made when it is too late and I travel sick,
have already thrown up. A road shared with many. I had to turn
fifty four before I could read the road ahead. The road up to fifty
four was interesting. The road after fifty four an experience. Both
roads were and are gravel roads; I am pleased. Ex-South-Westerners
are familiar with driving on gravel roads. Not all the people who
travelled with me up to fifty four could always keep up. Not
everybody travels the same road; there are turn-offs and stalls.
Also, one cannot always stop for every donkey, but one realises
that only later on. Some people never appreciate that. There is, at
the end of the day (or should it be at the end of the road?), more
to live than only houses and money. Somewhere along the road, one
stops for oneself. Somewhere along the road, one picks up oneself.
It does not matter how many times one stops, or how many turn-offs
one follows, all the little side roads eventually lead back to the
main road. All the little roads bring you back to yourself.
Somewhere along the road, one stops for oneself...
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