There were no great forks in the path in the woods:
just hundreds of small threads, tentative, half-explored,
where we did or did not venture.
So, tread by tread, we found ourselves
so far from where we wished to go, so lost alone and afeard,
that finding the way back seemed hopeless
yet forging ahead impossible.
Next life, when we embark on forest challenges,
we’d like well-worn routes, please, and clear signs at forks in the road,
stating loudly the consequences of chasing one path over the other
So that loss does not creep up on us,
unaware
yet deathly efficient.
findingtimetowrite 