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?