The Route

This beaten path drifts left,
semi circles cut around
drying marshes, a patch
of Ash trees and a line of
Mock Orange bushes. Smell
comfort passing the
Mock Orange, run
around the dropped Ash
tree leaves.

And stop. Drawn into
watching the wind place
leaves on the small,
innocence that is a puddle
and this human need to see
to the clear, water bottom.

Then, go, as the path
goes, placing one foot
in the wet this time. Why?
I am told, I need to go
through and not around.

What I want is to leave
my mark, show my route
to those coming after.
But there is no immortality,
in the easy smoothing of
this puddled water.