The way, the opposite path,
was not painted yellow.
Nor emblazoned with white stones,
glowing in the moonlight.
Faith.
A bloodhound found
a golden trail.
Memories of motions
brought to life,
made dekades
of diffrents threads
in the cobweb
collide.
In the ocean of leaf and needles.
Tranquillity watching.
Silent tears flow freely,
wandering,
with the knees
above earth.
A known path.
Yet unknown today.