The trail was twisted, tangled, and bent.

Stretched and plied like a yarn-ball of roots.

Cars could be heard in the distance,

Their horns no more than a rustle,

A reluctant reminder of another world,

Readily removed and replaced with a frozen moment,

Like glass on a lake,

Fragile yet firm in its frigid resolve.

Had I come too far?

In a quest for peace, I had somehow found myself deep in the desolate wood.

I knew the way back, winding as it may be.

But I didn’t want to turn back.

Not yet.

Let me ponder of another path pursued,

If just a little longer still.