Fixations

At every crossroad

one must decide which road will remain not taken

But I'm tired

It was a long walk here 

mostly straight, no thorns or unexpected encounters 

and then a sudden season of frost 

that froze me into a limbo

How does one foresee which path is meant for me

There are no grand schemes 

Only choices, and their weight

Sometimes, most times, its easier to remain 

In pause, in cold, in the unknown and the newly familiar

Its comforting to fixate on the trees I have gotten acquainted with yesterday

Their warm autumn leaves, 

The gentle breeze with the drizzle of water in the air

The squirrels that tease

They all keep me from choosing to chose

Is not picking a path also a choice?

or is it just cowardice? 

Is it okay to rely on the trees to occupy and consume my mind for now?

Autumn only lasts a minute, 

then the leaves I write sonnets about, fall

Overnight, the trees are unrecognisable, 

Their previously beautiful and full bodies,

now vacant and colourless, seem to have an allure of darkness

Perhaps they aren't the best fixation after all

When everything that surrounds you is changing,

How long can you resist? 

What if you never find this path again? 

Can you live with the weight of that choice?

And just like that, winter is here and passing

While I stand still holding on to the last leaves of autumn