Stepping stones across the river of my life, most
treacherous underfoot with slime of seasons past. I stand alone, surrounded by
the current of my thoughts, wondering, feet wet, if the gap ahead will prove a
step too far, if she will take me to the swirling depths of life’s unknowns.
I’ve come this far, crossed many thresholds, ploughed
furrows through the muck of time, yet now I find I’m trapped, afraid to take
the plunge.
I answer to myself. Decisions must be mine alone. Do I move or
do I stay? Am I content, at peace with the rock I’m on? Have I left enough to
make a mark, to leave a space that will be noticed?
Scars, deep scraped in walls of souls, litter the landscape
of past. I’ve weathered storms created by commitment’s fear, lingered longer
than invited, jumped and fled before bursting dams took away my power of
choice.
But now I stand alone, connected by tendrils borne of duty,
debt, and memory. The river of my life flows past, its latent, glaring strength
a timely threat, a warning not to dwell, procrastinate, deny, or try to cross
reality’s breadth, expanse, because she’s watching all the time, waiting,
hoping, ready, to take me.
Which way will I go?
