The road taken / By: Olta Totoni

 

The road taken

 

By: Olta Totoni

Can you hear the cracks of the yellow leaves that cover the forest’s ground? The yellow colours of autumn invaded the forest and the paths. There were only leaves which had fallen from the trees. The crown of the trees was there above my head, haunting my steps. Many birds were standing still and breaking the silence with their singing. I was the only traveller in the yellow wood and I was plunged into the yellowness. No one was there. I was there. I was under the crown of the trees. The river was flowing under my feet. Its water kept taking everything the stones, the dry leaves and the wooden sticks. It also took my feelings. I was there alone and in peace with the nature. I was a traveller in a yellow forest. The water was splashing up and down and the small pieces of the yellow leaves were dancing. I was there, the only spectator of the yellow wood. I was walking and the river curved. There was a bridge nearby, which connected the two sides. I jumped and came near the bridge, the river soaked me. It was just me, the forest and the nature.

I was walking and thinking, thinking and walking again. The noise of the splashing water was accompanying me, a mixture of yellow leaves and water. I stopped by the river again. I was a simple traveller of this yellow forest. I raised my head and the yellowness usurped me. I could distinguish the dry brown trunks of the trees that were slowly dying in order to be reborn again in spring. Somewhere, the greenness was combined with the yellowness but the latter invaded the view. I passed the bridge, the crown of the trees and I was directed in the darkest part of the wood. The rays of the sun could not reach this part of the forest. The trees were dense, the river rocks were enormous and you could see the waterfall dividing the rocks in two parts. You could see the brown and yellow leaves covering the ground and the rocks like a blanket that keeps the ground warm. It was dark. I sat by this curved part of the river. I opened my bag and I took a book of poetry that I had with me. I started exploring the book and my eyes focused on a poem “The road not taken” by Robert Frost and I started reading it:

“-Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could…”

The poetry took me away. I started murmuring the poem again. I started raising my voice and I could hear the echoes of the words; the road –road –road, not-not-not, taken-taken-taken. The words have power and the poetry was intertwined with the yellow trees, the darkness and the splashy waters. I was the owner of the forest, the owner of the crown forest, the forest of my imagination. I was the only poetic traveller of the yellow forest. The water of the mountain river and the leaves made my spirit poetic. The sound of nature and the atmosphere of peace inspired me. I began reading the rest of the poem:

“ -Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same…”

The poem persuaded my thoughts. I could not only think of anything else. I was a traveller in the yellow forest. The thoughts and ideas came to me like yellow leaves dancing in the wind. I was there in the darkest part of the wood. I abruptly got my bag and started my walking. The forest was immense. I could hear the cracking of the leaves under my feet. I could hear birds singing. I could hear the water splashing. Frost’s poem was paving my way. I could hear echoes again; the road-road-road, yellow-yellow-yellow, forest-forest-forest.I was walking and I found myself in the middle of two roads. The poem was processed in my mind:

“-Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

I took the road less travelled by. I was a traveller of the yellow forest.

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