along the way
They are just enough. Not manicured. No gravel.
Just enough people have walked them
to leave their marks, and an assurance
that where ever you go, you are on your way
And so we follow them. Strangely secure
in our path, even with no signposts
to tell us what terrain we may encounter
or where we will end.
That may be enough,
for I am old enough to realize I will never arrive.
I only travel, and travel some more,
that paths build character and show it
in our persistence and prayers
along the way.
About this poem
I have long contended that life is more about how we do than what we do.
I have no plan for the afternoon.
From those things, this poem.