The Fool

A Fools journey, indeed.

 They were ready.

For what, they didn't know, but it didn't matter anymore.

All they've ever known were the small confines of the dirt pathway that was now behind them. It was a risk, and one that they knew they hadn't thought of enough. The decision to leave behind the comfort of familiarity could almost be described as rash.

Almost.

The truth was, they had been feeling a tug at their pointed shoes for a while now. Every day, the Fool wandered further and further away from the blank confines that kept them in place and closer to the edge of everything they didn't know. Where they felt they should feel apprehension or fear was only exhilaration and mirth. 

The Fool slung the burlap sack that they didn't remember packing over their shoulder and let out a low whistle. They never had to wait long for their friend and today was no exemption. They could feel the hot breath of the stray dog that had shown up not long before the tug at their own heels. It was only right, thought the Fool, that the brightly coated pup accompany me. Why not start of this adventure with a constant by my side? 

The bright green stripes the Fool donned matched the pale light from the sky behind them, and at last, with their feet pointed toward the sun that hung low in the sky, they began to walk toward the edge of the cliff that had held them up for as long as they could remember.

It was time to finally scratch the itch that had taken up permanent residence on both the soles of their feet and the back of their mind.