You Walk

It is early in the morning
and you walk.
The air is cold
and burns in your lungs,

the pain a reminder
of your frailty, despite an exterior
hale and hearty,
a frailty deep within,

hidden in plain sight,
yet, to most, invisible.
You walk.
The river below you

is silent, still,
the current a thing underneath,
peaceful and powerful,
always, always
moving.

You walk.
The sun rises slowly,
bringing the dark into relief,
the trees, the town,

the bridge,
long and straight crosses the river,
and for a time
you consider crossing it

a shortcut towards home,
familiar, safe, straight.
but you do not.
There are adventures to be had,

mysteries to uncover,
possibilities and peril,
less safe perhaps, less straight,
but far more alive.

You walk.

About this poem

We all make choices. How to live. Where to live. Safe. True to our souls. Or not.

The picture was taken in nearby Greenwich, NY. It was not altered in any way.

Tom