In Control

Path of trod packed gray snow berries on trees around its edges grow. Fine drawn tails of branches bared bud less against a sky that covers sun and high clouds; over this place lost in time. Shrill yet sweet bird song adding to my sense that certain things are best not experienced alone. Mind elsewhere I slip my boot twisting down and under an exposed root leaving me half sitting and cursing. Having done its work in delivering thoughts of you it frees my foot. As I cross Lovers bridge over the rushes with my newly acquired hobble I find myself playing with a thought .. is it better to believe I am strong than to try to love?