Left. Right. 

You stand and look across the wetlands,
at the colors changing as the wind blows,
a hint of winter in the air.

Leaves blow around you, a colorful rain
and the light grows richer, more perfect
on its way to dusk.

It is a perfect moment, but only a moment.
Soon the light will dim
and the cold will invade your bones

as the color fades away,
as the light fades way
and colder times cut into your heart.

So enjoy this. Perfection is rare
and deserves worship, for it is outside of your reach.
It lives

only in the intersection of readiness and chance.
Savor it. Allow it to crawl into your soul
so you can carry it with you, for soon

you must leave. You must choose
right or left for the next adventure.
Do not fret

for it matters less than you think
which way you choose. New light comes
no matter the road.

All that changes
is the scenery.

About this poem. 

I’ve made good choices in my life. Lots of them. I’ve bad choices in my life. Lots of them. In the end, there were beauty and lessons in both.

Whew!

Tom