The Two Roads Project

The well-known poem by Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken ends, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

Two women, who became friends via the magic of the Internet, were both living life on roads less traveled by. Circumstance had them both live in Whitehorse for a short time, where they became best friends. Life's map has them currently in differing geographic locations, but their connection and camaraderie continue as they continue on paths of motherhood, friendship, creativity and discovery. The Two Roads Project is our effort to reconnect with each other and our inner artists on a weekly basis, each Friday. (Or thereabouts. We don't always know which day of the week it is).
Sarah writes at Cure For Boredom.

Alone Time

Johanna (left) : It doesn't have to be long. It doesn't have to be somewhere new (although that would be nice). It just has to include getting outside, walking and some time carved out, just for me. 

There aren't many places these days, where I can escape to, for a few moments of alone time. Our town is so small, that places like the library or restaurant, are always a sure way to bump into other people. And of course, I do like to be social and have visits, but I also crave alone time, where I can think without distraction and noise. 
When I take off down the trail behind our house, I know that I will be in for some quiet and time for myself. Inevitably, my current worries and stresses come to the forefront, and I am able to focus on what may be troubling me and in a way work it out on my own. 
The days are getting longer here, and with that, I am committing to myself to get out and breathe in that crisp cool Yukon air. And more importantly, to give myself the space and alone time that I need to be happier and more healthy. 

Sarah (right) : There has been a lot of noise as of late; joyful noise, as I've heard it called. Children asking question, babbling songs, screaming discoveries, crying over injustices. Then there's the reverberating hum behind their voices: the oven hood fan, the rattle shaking, the furnace kicking in, the wood floor creaking, the Songza 90s station. I craved quiet. More than just the quiet of water cascading from the shower head, drowning out the house noise. I drove myself down the street, to the river. Just for a quick reprieve. It was the middle of the morning. I parked next to a seniors' residence. I could hear the snow crunch under my boots until I stopped on the shoreline and listened. Ah, quiet. Interrupted only by a calling bird every now and again.