Along the Path

Morning hums through the trees,

dew on the leaves, soft on my sleeves.

I take a step and the world sighs open,

paths like veins beneath my feet.

I don’t know where this road is going,

but the guessing feels like grace.

Every turn is a question whispered,

every shadow—some kind of face.

⸻

I’ve walked past ferns that brushed my knees,

heard the creak of bark, the hush of bees.

Sometimes the trail just fades to dirt,

and I’m not sure if I’m lost or free.

But maybe life’s a winding thing,

not meant to run in lines.

We find our truth in the in-between,

in the stumble, in the climb.

⸻

Oh, I don’t need to know what’s next,

just let the forest hold my breath.

If I fall, if I laugh, if I cry—

it’s all part of walking by.

I’ll find myself,

along the path.

⸻

Sometimes it rains and I hide beneath the pine,

sometimes the sun spills gold across the line.

I’ve seen my doubts grow roots and bloom,

I’ve felt my hope hum low, in tune.

⸻

When night leans close and the crickets call,

I’ll rest my back against it all.

Every turn, every thorn, every breath I take—

it all led me here, awake.

The path goes on, and so do I,

under the ever-turning sky.

If I don’t reach the end, that’s fine—

the walk itself was mine.