I love a good road map.
Although I admit GPS systems are handy dandy for many occasions, I prefer not to have a robotic voice directing me down a barren electronic grid. Instead, give me a good old-fashioned road map anytime for I want to see the big picture when on the open road.
Perhaps it is because I like the visual aids that signal the signposts of a familiar destination. For example, if you were to ask me directions to one of my favorite Northwoods’ places, I would surely advise you to turn right after the giant moose, keep a lookout for the red barn, and if you pass the little white church in the vale, you’ve gone too far.
One of the many appeals of a hands-on map for me is that it displays a myriad of details as to where I am going. The breadth of the forest I’m entering, the name of the river I’m crossing, the mountain range I’m approaching. With its many soft colors and demarcations, a real map broadens my horizons by showing the detailed terrain that surround me. And if by chance a scenic byway offers a tempting detour, I take it.
But right about now, however, I’m thinking we all are feeling a bit lost. We could really use a road map out of this pandemic and into a better New Year. So often, when I look to the heavens for comfort on these cold winter nights, I am reminded once again of the ancient sailors trusting the steady starlight map above them as their guide. If nothing else, we can follow their lead, persevering with courage as we seek signposts of hope.
