Poem: Disappearing Paths

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Disappearing Paths

The fog grows thicker.
The air grows colder.

This is not how it is supposed to be,
not now, not in the morning
when the sun is supposed to cut through
the grey,
when paths are supposed to grow clear.

The path is all you have,
well trod by others, it fades
as the grey closes in.
It is unexplored territory,
and the slowly disappearing path, the knowledge
that others have used it to find their summits
is the promise,
no, less than a promise,
yet more, the belief
that this will end
and you will survive,
that you will thrive and colour will return
brighter than you ever imagined.

And so you walk
as the grey closes in.

About this poem

When thing after thing goes wrong. When we enter the dark places of our soul. When we are overwhelmed, we have choices. Freeze. Flee. Or walk into the night.

I spent much of my life freezing. Today, and in recent years, I walk.

The picture was taken this morning, just behind my house.

Tom

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