Various and Sundry Poetry

the path

What if "our path" was less about where our "journey" was taking us, and more about the actual ground we were already walking on? What if "the path" were city street, a backwoods trail, a bedroom carpet, an asphalt driveway leading us to our own front door. Maybe one day the path is a set of well-positioned, proportional flagstones, and the next it's an incoherent, discombobulated mess of pebbles, tossed pennies, dead leaves and trash. Maybe the path is the distance between our car and the mailbox. Or a grocery aisle on a weekend afternoon. Or the inches we lean into to give our love a kiss goodnight. Maybe "our path" is exactly where we are, right now, not where we think we "need" to be.