The Path

I hold steadfast to the Path

though my body craves a wandering.

If I veer in this direction

I may find myself lost

on an empty dirt road,

train tracks once used so persistently

by travellers and tradesmen alike

now abandoned

of all rumblings and steam whistles.

I may happen upon a wayward fox,

curious enough to overcome

the stranger fear

of an upright creature

and scuffle over loose stones

to say, "hello".

*

Snap back into focus,

and concentrate on the Path.

So perfectly placed and properly planned,

every step to be taken forward to

obtain the accomplished feeling,

I did that.

So, monotonously, I trudge

and begin to dream of

the other side

with greener grass.

And I imagine the view

from the summit

of the hill in my vision

and wonder what it would feel like

to run my hands

along the tall blades of unkempt growth

and imagine the calming

smell of the wildflowers

distracting from the heat of the beating sun.

*

But I mustn't stray from the Path.

One foot in front of the other,

plodding forward to the destination

outlined distantly

on the highest peaks

and invisible

when low in the valleys.

The ups and downs invite me

to reminisce about

the wild wind whipping

my hair in my face

on a roller coaster rampage

of twists and turns

so fast and unpredictable

I scream with delight for both

the highs

and

the lows.

*

Then I remember not to stray from the Path.