The Border James was thirsty, so he halted and looked for a quiet place to rest his feet and mind, both weary from the journey that had begun some seven hours prior. He found a tree stump in the shadow of a large evergreen and, after removing his backpack, there lowered himself onto the semi-smooth surface of the former tree. The hiking enthusiast took out his canteen and drank freely, allowing himself a good fifteen minutes of rest before resuming his trek. This rest time included a time check, another look at the map, a quick snack and a minute or two of stretching. He was vacationing, out to see the land on foot, and he kept himself on a tight schedule. There was much he wanted to see, and little time in which to see it. Shortly after resuming his journey, James noticed the head of a trail off the main road that appeared on not one map he had perused in preparation for this journey. To take the trail would undoubtedly destroy his schedule, as he had built no unaccounted for time into his agenda. James could see that the trail led into the mountains and beside a beautiful river, and was most likely a challenge and a pleasure to traverse. He had to decide soon whether or not to forsake his plans, for he was only a short distance now from where he must either continue on his own journey or take the trail's offer. It was hard for James to let go of his meticulously planned itinerary, but he did. As he took the first step onto the trail, James felt free and anxious at the same time. He tried not to think about the time he was losing, and he tried to enjoy the freedom of the unheralded trail. After about a half hour's walk, he saw up ahead a very strange sight. The trail seemed to run into a wall of rock, sheer, blue-gray and massive. If the wall had limits on the left or right, James could not see them. It was a surreal site. Unnatural, thought James, supernatural even. It seemed out of place, but there it was. James walked on, intrigued by the very size of the wall. In the middle of the wall, about eight feet above the trail, was a hole about three feet in diameter. An entrance, he thought, that leads out to the really interesting part of this trail. He felt again the fear and excitement he had first experienced at the trail's beginning. He was within five feet of the wall when he saw him, and the shock left his face bloodless. There, just off to the right of the trail, was a small wooden tollbooth in which sat the toll collector. His eyes were fixed on James when James caught sight of him. Not a frightening figure, by any means. A short, thin man, in fact. It was the shock of finding another human figure in such a desolate place that shocked him. He searched his brain for a greeting to offer. "Greetings, traveler," said the collector with a smile. "Welcome to the border." "Oh, the border," said James, "is that what this is. I couldn't find this place on the map." "Most of the newer maps don't include the border. It's a long story, but it's enough to say that a lot of people don't want to acknowledge this place exists. I see you made it here, though, despite efforts to prevent it." James wondered what he meant by that, but wasn't sure if he really wanted an explanation. So, he continued the conversation in an obvious direction. "What's on the other side? Do I need a passport?" asked James. " Well, yes, but you can't use your old passport. In fact, you'll need to turn that one in to me before going any further. It's part of the toll" "What?" "Seems strange, I know, but once you cross the border, you can't come back. It's a one way journey," the toll collector said calmly. "That's crazy! You mean once I go in there," James said pointing at the hole, "I can't come out again? Who ever heard of such a thing?" "Well, a lot of people have heard of it, but not quite so many have actually gone through with it. Would you like to go in?" James pondered the question. Would I like to go in? It seemed absurd. Why would a man want to go in to a place he had never heard of before, especially if he could never come out again? It didn't make sense. He had pretty well decided to turn around and get back to the main trail, but he decided to satisfy his curiosity first. "Why would I want to go in there? And why can't I ever come out again? What's so special about this place?" said James. "In all your years of hiking," said the collector, "you have never come upon a trail like this one. It is unique, unrivaled, and it winds through the most beautiful woodlands and mountains there are. It is both challenging and satisfying. It will push you to your limits, and beyond. It will give you unspeakable joy. But the trail is just that: a trail. Its purpose is to take you somewhere. The trail is the means, not the end. The end is beyond your imagining." James pictured some of the trails he had conquered in his hiking career. He thought of the awe he had experienced at various sunrises and sunsets, on trails of earth and of rock. He had seen some beautiful places in his day, but the man in the booth was telling him he had, in effect, seen nothing yet. James was intrigued, but not so taken in to forget his second question, which he restated. "OK, but why can't I come back out again?" "That is a question I can't very well answer for you, for you have not entered. Once you hike the trail on the other side, you will have the answer to your question." "You're telling me that I have to decide before I have all my questions answered? What if I go in, and I hate it? What if I'm for the rest of my life because of one stupid choice I made? What if . . .?" "Are you truly satisfied now?" the collector asked. James was caught off guard by this question. It left him silent. He looked slowly down at the ground, then up at the rock, then back to the toll collector, who had not stopped looking at James since he asked his last question. "The toll is this: all you have. Your itinerary, your passport, your watch, your life as you know it, in exchange for entrance to the trail." The mention of the itinerary produced a sudden wave of helplessness and anxiety that swept over James. "I've really got to get going," he said to the toll collector. "I'm way off schedule." "Are you?" asked the man in the booth. Contributed by Stephen F. Pizzini «¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤» Today Inspirational Web Page From Mr. Mom's Web Site: MOTHER - THE BEAUTIFUL CREATURE http://mrmom.amaonline.com/mother.htm »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«