Rough day in Accra, Ghana
He chose to walk the windy path with bare feet to lead as many people through. Unassuming that he would spar with self doubt in secret corners as time rushed wildly through the dark streets elected leaders failed to elucidate.
Much easier to drink bitter rose blood from dead grapes while he plays the phosphorescent blues a top his favorite peak with the mountain men he abandoned at the top of the water shed. But he chose the windy path with no mandalins or well meaning people who would give him obscure books when what he needed was a good meal.
Instead on the windy path his closest constantly pulled him down in his stride. He never looked back and proceeded as in the beginning. Never needing the buddy count.
Endlessly walking in the dark or leading to bring silence so completely. Maybe he doesn’t find love or home at the end, but more mountain men to play the windy path blues with. -AA