Parchments and Journeys

The horizon beckons
to eyes fixed on the road
that has seen its years.
The wind whispers
to ears open to fear,
imagined yet palpable.
What of the hands,
numbed by a chill
wrought more by spirit
than by nature?

The map invites
in faded parchment,
rich as tomes
Unread,
and scrolls
Unearthed.

No journey begins
‘til the eyes catch sight of the distance
and the feet seek the road
that has seen its years.