The Photo

I have a photograph that captured a brief moment in time when a young woman was facing divergent paths and uncharted terrain. The photo was taken in the hills of Oregon on a sunny day in May...a day in which my friend was to share with me a real mountain hot spring-the first I was to have ever laid eyes on. 
It was not meant to be.  At the base of our hike we were stopped short by engineers who had closed the springs to remove a fallen tree.
So, we wandered by the glassy lake and ooh'd and ahh'd the sparkling cascade of a waterfall.  The sound of tribal drums beating drew us to a high ridge overlooking the lake.  There sat a Native American woman chanting her prayers of restoration to the Spirit of the Mountain. The woman wore a kerchief over her thick, dark luxurious hair.  Accepting a silent invitation, my friend sat quietly next to the woman, her own mostly bald and patchy head also covered by a kerchief, her once long and glorious locks sacrificed to the Chemo God. 
Such a strong vision these two women made as they communed silently with their spirits that I stepped back from the scene and concentrated on taking photos of my friend's two young sons as they hopped from rock to rock, chased lizards gleefully and eventually rested, still on the big stones.  They sat there, staring pensively at their mother's back.  I dared not wonder what they were thinking and felt like an intruder with my camera.
Stepping back from them all, I took in the splendor of the nature around me.
Then a bee buzzed around the boys and the spell of spiritual silence broke as the Indian woman and my friend embraced a heartfelt goodbye to an unexpected moment that could never be duplicated and would never be forgotten.
But that scene is not the photo. 
No, the photo is of my friend taking a final walk by herself before we all packed into the car and headed home.
There she stands, practically blending into the scenery around her, wearing the shades of nature on her body.  A turqouise scarf, a teal backpack, sky-blue jeans and a dark top.
She is looking down at the ground, her eyes connecting with something I can not see...a creature, a flower, a rock, a thought?
She is standing with each foot on a different terrain.  Her left foot is on the base of a rocky slope.  The face of the slope-cracked, gray, broken and weathered.
Her right foot, just inches away, is enveloped by mountain grasses and sparse wildflowers.  She bears a pondering look upon her face, almost silently wondering which foot to lift first.  Her life, this last year, has been full of seemingly nothing but decisions...about her treatment, her doctors, her children's education, her husband's needs...once upon a time decisions were not that hard to make.  Now every new choice leads to another slew of options.
The petite woman is fighting cancer, fighting the side effects of the medication, fighting for normalcy and routine, fighting to make choice after carefully thought out choice to the one decision that will lead her to the end of all this fighting so she can once again, just BE.
Though she is surrounded by a friend, her sons and a newfound well-wisher, the photo shows only her and I realize at last that it's the same with her cancer.  The walk is a solitary one, the choices hers to make.
But in this photo, I finally see a peace on her face before she lifts her foot to move forward.  She is at ease in either terrain and knows that though one may be easier than the other both paths will lead her forward...indeed, she will walk whatever path will lead her  safely home.