My clumsy feet slip
on the gravel as I stumble down hill into a valley from which I’m not sure I
can climb out of again once I reach the bottom, or that I might not want to,
life being a one-day trip most often down than up, content to get anywhere at
all once its concludes, dim light filtering through the branches of trees not
yet thick with buds, spring still a few days away when I ache for its arrival.
I stumble, then grip the tree trunks until I am secure
again, the scent of fresh water hitting me before the sound, calling me,
leading me on to a sense of home I don’t believe in or think I deserve, yet
need to reach there before my energy expires, to see what I hear and smell,
downhill
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