The Path that leads to Nowhere

THERE'S a path that leads to Nowhere
        In a meadow that I know,
    Where an inland island rises
        And the stream is still and slow;
    There it wanders under willows,
        And beneath the silver green
    Of the birches' silent shadows
        Where the early violets lean.

    Other pathways lead to Somewhere,
        But the one I love so well
    Has no end and no beginning—
        Just the beauty of the dell,
    Just the wind-flowers and the lilies
        Yellow-striped as adder's tongue,
    Seem to satisfy my pathway
        As it winds their scents among.

    There I go to meet the Springtime,
        When the meadow is aglow,
    Marigolds amid the marshes,—
        And the stream is still and slow.
    There I find my fair oasis,
        And with care-free feet I tread
    For the pathway leads to Nowhere,
        And the blue is overhead!

    All the ways that lead to Somewhere
        Echo with the hurrying feet
    Of the Struggling and the Striving,
        But the way I find so sweet
    Bids me dream and bids me linger,
        Joy and Beauty are its goal,—
    On the path that leads to Nowhere
        I have sometimes found my soul!

- Robinson 

When I left for work on Thursday the path to nowhere in the backyard still had no destination,  but by the time I reached home a small barn had sprung up like a mushroom. It is really rather amazing how quickly it was built. It still needs a coat of paint, but is already perfectly functional.



I could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the neighbors who I'm sure have been worried that we were going to continue to leave all our belongings strewn about the backyard. We were very much looking like the Clampets who had moved to Beverly Hills.