In control

Written by: Anthony French

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?