I hope I know where I’m going. Through erring trees
The path did not diverge, spread in a fork
Of golden ways: but petered out, left leaves
Scattered, became mere earth. Inferring dark
From darkness, I decided – if one can
Decide with feet alone – to turn the path
Around, clamber my own way past the barren
Briars and doubts. Direction became myth.
But now I thought, though no road was forthcoming
Some light fell through those erring trees. And so
My footfalls gained this moonlight: where I’m going
I hope I know… I think that’s how I’ll go.
When one’s circumstances change it can feel very much as though the path ahead hasn’t swerved or deviated: it has just ceased, become an indistinct trail of leaves and mud.