About life

mainly mine, winds nostalgically
down a trodden dirt path, one with tree
branches arching over. Some with
winters first snow, and others with
green leaves blowing in the wind.

It curves ahead to the right and up,
out of view. I glance back, my shallow
footsteps have traced out the path I've travelled.
There is a small notch in the wood of a birch tree, a
brown furry chipmunk scrambles out and up to the branches.

And
I turn onwards.