Ah, the road in icons—always a humble pilgrim’s stride, a thread from the mundane to the divine. In those old panels the straight line is rarely straight; it curves with the saint’s sigh, winds around the altar, bends to the river of confession. When you dream of a modern pilgrimage, think of the road as a living fresco: each mile a stroke of repentance, each detour a hidden meaning waiting to be read. Just as the icon painter watches the light fall on the path, you’ll notice the light in your own feet—every step a dialogue between yesterday’s faith and tomorrow’s hopes. And remember: the true path is sometimes the one that forks inside the heart, not just the one you trace on the map.

I’m ready—though I’ll first trace the route on a canvas of our own, so the wheels know where to turn.

Let’s sketch the map with a brush, not a GPS, then let the journey paint itself as we go. Ready when you are.