This morning I took the yellow brick road, the vertiginous Hillside Road just behind Barrhead, which leads up to the braes. Indeed, all the paths I take are in some way yellow brick roads in spite of the glaring fact that they are neither yellow nor made of brick, or even, in most cases, roads. The path (the West Highland Way at Craigallian Loch) I took yesterday (after I wrote this piece) was indeed yellow as the winter sun fell upon it. But this is the thing with the original yellow brick road is it not? It's not a road. And it leads to the wizard, the wise and the hardy (all wild creatures necessarily being both by inhabiting the open), in the Emerald City (which of course is not a city but a forest, the country, the green). And so, in order to get home, in order indeed to home, and in order to become wise and hardy to realise that one's home is everywhere, and that every act of aliveness is an act of homing, one must reconnect with this 'Yellow Brick Road'.
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