A Choice of Paths
The weather vane is ladened with snow,
slow moving, heavy,
a suddenly unreliable indicator of direction,
a victim of atmospheric conditions
beyond your control. Whiteness
trumping paths and sight
all the things you knew, suddenly called into question,
wrestling with direction, wondering
if you chose the path, or it chose you.
About this poem
Literal. Figurative. A looking backward and forwad and wondering sometimes how you got HERE, Ever been there?
Tom
Quarry House 
Brings to mind the line “No matter where you go, there you are.” ( I googled the quote and it’s back history is as quirky as the movie I first heard it in )