And he sat down. Refused to walk any further. He had to know the destination of the journey. If not that, at least the path that would, possibly, get him there. For the first time, he saw what surrounded him. As he walked, all these days, there was never a frame of reference; it kept changing. Each step that he took, the frame of reference kept changing.
Now, here, without the determination to go onward, he saw many things. Butterflies. Leaves. Mud. Cracks. Sun. Sky. Clouds. Flowers.
He pondered his purposeful journey; wondered what all he had missed along the way.
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