Paths of the wanderer

I am never ever too long in a place to call home. Walking where ever there is a path, made by humanity in a city or somewhere out there, a path made by peasants of a village.
Sometimes the path is long and so arduous that it would literally ground you down like an eraser at the end of a pencil.
If fate is kind and your side, the path brings you back to your birthplace, where you find solace, and comfort in the familiar. After a brief spell, it is time to go again, the paths to the unknown come calling.
The feet are yearning; the blood is thirsty with wanderlust, till it’s time to sleep and dream of wandering even as I put on the akasic veil
 God Bless You
May all be well with you
DMD

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