Evening on a Mud Road

At dusk, the mud road lies empty.
I have walked it many times,
barefoot once, hurried later, and slowly now.

A jeep passes.
Its sound is rough, brief.
For a moment, dust rises,
as if the road itself has something to say.

Then the jeep is gone.
The dust settles.
The road becomes what it always was.

This is how life has been for me.

People passed through my days,
jobs, arguments, ambitions, praise, blame.
Each one made noise.
Each one stirred the dust.

I thought those moments were important.
I chased them.
I worried about them.

But over the years, I noticed something simple:
Everything settles.

The road remains.
The evening deepens.
Silence returns without effort.

Now, like the dust, I rest.
Not defeated,
Just finished rushing.

Life, I have learned,
is not the jeep that passes,
But the quiet road
that waits after.