Dark Path

P

ristine tree-lined walkways offer a glorious mix of visual and thermal pleasures along

Dennis Pritt in the heat of a low hanging equatorial sun. Similarly, warm hues of street

lighting must evoke romance in a sweltering Njaanuary evening, one would think.

Even though I have traversed this road countless times on my way to work, the evening

walk is hellish. That's harsh, the devil probably has tiki torches and fire cauldrons

illuminating his real estate. I stumble along at an eighth of my normal speed,

careful not to step in dog doo. How I wish I was bat-girl, using

sonar, I could find my way home much quicker in this canine-doodie embellished infrastructural maze.

Courtesy: Pixabay on Pexels

Psychologically I am in a state. A state of short-lived scares dancing in harmonious disquiet. Please note, I'm a small-framed female invisibly (due to the blinding darkness) lacking the art of Krav Maga. Deduction: poorly lit areas do not inspire the feeling of safety. Perhaps the veil of darkness facilitates a covert presidential, this is his neck of the woods after all.

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