By Taber Nelson

Overcast skies cast sheets atop the mountains

While the thin flakes of snow

Gently tickle the earth

There one stands, in the grasping cold

With his wispy breath reaching for the sky

Looking down the two roads

One with the brick lining, which shows grey

From the tests of weather and time

The road displays overgrowth, willows and small pines

Not for the light of soul

The wind gusts and the snow picks up

The second path shows

No longer a lain path, but a trail

Where the growth is less, and the distance is near

But when life appears too good

It is never the truth

But where do these paths lead?

Awestruck by the magnitude of the decision,

There in-between stood a tall and noble blue fir

There at the trunk lies a leather bound journal

With pages made of Cyprus leaves

As it opens, dust scatters and inside lies nothing

Blank pages.

Then it came.

Feet and arms moving in an upward fashion

Though the thick growth, Where webs lie

And nests peep over the trees

And the squirrels nestle over the winter

Finally the peak

Above the blanket of storm

Above the weight of snow pressing down

There were all the answers of life

Why choose left or right, when you can choose up.