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 all
