Past freeways.
Past country roads.
Past single wide trailers.
Men chopping wood.
Spring will be here soon.
Snow remains.
Sticks poke through, dotting the trail.
A patchwork of white and brown.
Dirt road.
Lost now.
Somehow found.
I know where I am.
Within myself.
At peace.
No sound but the rush of the wind in the treetops.
No sound but the breath of God.

Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.