It could be a path between fields in the backcountry of Portugal’s Trans os Montes. Or a trail across the frontier between Mexico and the American Southwest. Or a dirt road in a high, dry summer somewhere in mountains lying outside the Temperate zone.
Perhaps I walk the path to inspect inherited land. Or I pace the trail desperate to escape the hazards of the places I left behind. Or I take a summer stroll.
The illusory summit beckons. The water dwindles with every step. The choice remains at every point: carry on, or return.
Perhaps I’ll look at the land or stroll another day. But no, I have no choice but to pursue a new life.
Like so many have done before.
the imprint of hope
in every step
for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Summit #writephoto