I've walked so many days and miles
until they've added up to years.
I've tried to avoid concrete paths
in favor of country roads and trails
where boots impact much softer land.

Sometimes those roads went past large farms
sometimes clusters of hobby farms
occasionally a family farm
where a long swing hung from an oak's limb.

But between these well kept fields
were woods and sometimes
deserted fields.
Where my journey turned toward a rutted road
or a dim trail beneath forest's crown.

On such a trail I trek today
down a ridge of oaks and hickory
where I jump a deer
and disturb squirrels.
One snorts but the others just bark.

This ridge ends in a small flood plain
where a middling river flows
winding lazy on its way
guarded by birch, huge poplars and beech
which 3 men's reach could not enclose.

And the trail goes to the water where it forks
one continues toward the other side
indistinct with privet hedge and brush.
The other runs the river's course
a known path

I pause to consider. Then
choose the more familiar way.
Soon enough I'll take the
unknown path.