I have been walking this way, in the snow,
for a decade now. As I reach the top of
a slope my heart races from the effort.
Would I have been this winded ten years ago?
I know the fork; to the left, a climb still higher,
to the right, a slow descent, but one from
which I’ll have to trudge back up again.
I listen to the beat within, audible in the wood’s
silence. I know I now must turn back
where once I would have walked on.