Linger at the shore
Where colours collide with thirst;
Swallow Autumn whole
Sometimes the path I walk upon
is bathed in golden sun,
Meanders through bright meadows
Where pure streams of water run.
Sometimes a fog obscures the view,
And rocks and thorns prevail,
The gradient makes progress slow,
Or rings with rain and hail.
Both are crucial to my road,
Both must have their place –
To one, I owe refreshment,
The other, strength and grace.
So whether I am stepping light
Or struggling as I roam,
I know each bend and every climb
Will bring me closer home.
Forest feels like second skin by now,
beam upon beam raised in self-defence.
Logging permits don’t pass easily –
deforestation is distinctly painful.
But when pines part,
canopy is cut,
there You are,
breaking through boughs,
illuminating dark and stained cells,
ushering in daylight
where angels feared to tread.
And as dead branches fall,
tentacles tremble in triumph;
and green grows
and oh, the grace
of breaking through…
I stopped to rest in snowy wood,
where tree-nymphs at attention stood
to guard the Path that leads to Hope;
I pondered on that frigid slope
that moving feet must bend their will,
or stay in snowy forest still.
So trudging on, determined more,
I soon arrived at Hopeful Shore.
What path will your feet choose this day?