Heading Home

It’s dark…

And cold…

The trees press in close.
There is no path anymore.
Roots rise to grab my feet.
Thin and whippy spider branches slap at my face.
Off to the side I can see the lights of civilization…

I can’t go there.

It’s not home.

I need to get home.

Home is behind me but,
It’s also in front.
Always in front.

I don’t care how long the night lasts.
I don’t care about the cold sliding past the skin and
Biting into the bone.
I don’t care about roots,
Or whippy branches,
Or unseen holes,
Or creepy animals in the dark.

I’m going to keep walking.

It’s the only way home.

I need to get home.

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