Musings 02

Staring at the dusty crossroads looking up at weather-worn signposts, the man in the ragged cloak contemplates his move. As the gale stirs up clouds of dust, he gathers whatever is left of the dirty sackcloth around his emaciated frame and squints up at the signs, trying to make sense of the faded words crudely carved in the wood.

Christos, proclaimed one of the signs. Il Mondo, the other sign declared. The man turned towards Christos, and began his laborious journey down the straight and narrow path.