Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

My Invisible Path

Sharran WindWalker


I awakened alone
atop a pathless mountain
and wondered how I should go forth:

Should I gouge a road
to the green valleys below?
Should I leave a trail of rocks
to mark my passage
across flowered alpine meadows
for others to note?
Should I hack a path
deep in the dark forest
through alder and hemlock
so I could return some day
if I should so desire?

I watched the eagles soar
and realized they left no path
in wisps of cloud or blue of sky
and they were free to glide
according to the air's currents:
why not so with me?

I turned my eyes from the valleys
and looked over snow-covered crests
where the wind blows winter and summer,
and no track is long visible,
and I thought:
yes, that is the way I must go,
never leaving a mark
upon the face I walk,
my feet kissing the snow gently
then moving on;
not leaving a fading shadow
for others to find and try to follow.
For my path is mine alone
and rolls up behind me
and all others must walk their own way,
finding pleasure in their own success,
learning from their own failures,
making their own choices:
I am not "God,"
I am but a part of all that is!

***

Sharran WindWalker was born in Fredericton, New Brunswick, then moved with her family to B.C. and then to the Chilliwack area, also known as the Upper Fraser Valley, where her grandfather had a farm in the foothills of Promontory/Ryder Lake area. On that farm she came into contact with nature and life as it exists outside the human fish bowl. For the past seventeen years she has been pondering the meaning of life and writing her thoughts in a format some call free verse and some, inspirational prose.

© Sharran WindWalker

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2012