It used to be clear, the path in the yellow wood.
Even the prongs of decision were not so fuzzy, so
mysterious. A fog has settled with no sign of lifting,
confounding the journey without regret. I tried a
torch, but the light simply makes the fog more dense.
I tried to sense my way, but that offers slow progress
on a long path. I fear I’ve reached an impasse… hope
is waning. I try to cling to its fingertips… I’m failing.


2 thoughts on “Destine

    1. Whitney, as ever, words of wisdom. Today, I float… being carried off by currents, gleefully following, without trepidation.

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