goat paths

So many different paths
And I chose these.

The ramifications and consequences
Collided
With the best of intentions to carry me
Here.

Under an oak tree
(I know the leaves well
They are perfect, synonymous in my mind
With diamonds even though that’s an
Inefficient way to describe)
I get the opportunity for the combined letting of blood and
Reminiscence.
I get to weigh the decisions and journeys
They resulted in
And compare to the desire for a life well lived

Was it?
Are these the choices I wanted?
There is such objectivity to the voice
That says, definitely:
Yes.

You accomplished this breezy afternoon
By climbing over those rocks
And crawling through those brambles
Scorching your forehead and
Scratching your limbs.

You moved your own doubts out of the way
And clambered down this little goat path-
Let’s be honest, countless generations walked it first-
And loved what you did even when you said over and over again you didn’t.

A man behind me is lint-brushing the stowaway roof on his convertible
While whoever his partner is does whatever they do
This is how a lazy summer Sunday goes.

We contemplate and task-orient ourselves into some sort of activity
Or not.
Sometimes, we read, tangentially write, and enjoy what fruits our laborious lives have delivered.