A Mother Of No Destination Here

Elora looked at the horizon, where the sky and sea were indistinguishable. "Arrival is an ending," she said. "But love is a continuous road. I stayed a mother to the restless, and in doing so, I was never alone."

A young man, a traveler himself with a pack full of maps, sat beside her. "You’ve spent your life wandering, yet you’re still here," he remarked. "Didn't you ever want to arrive?" A Mother of No Destination

The village children, curious and bold, once cornered her near the Whispering Pines. "Where are you going, Elora?" they chirped. "The road to the north leads to the city, and the road to the south leads to the salt mines. You’re just walking into the woods." Elora looked at the horizon, where the sky

For forty years, Elora walked. She became a living ghost of the coastline, a rhythmic presence that the villagers eventually used to time their own lives. When she finally grew too old to pull the cart, she sat on a bench overlooking the sea. I stayed a mother to the restless, and

Elora was a woman defined by the miles she had traveled, though she had never once looked at a map. In the seaside village of Oakhaven, they called her the "Mother of No Destination."