The other path
- Heather Brooke Drummond
February 14, 2026
Glints of gold flit between branches, Glowing into auras around leaves,
Until speckling into shadows, Waving, weaving with the wind, Falling upon this path and that, Pebbles burrowed into the trails, Twigs lying in wait to be snapped.
Until one day a traveler finds these crossroads, Perhaps ponders, glancing down one, the other, Feeling where breeze blows balmy, brisk, Discerning details, ratios, shades, sky, Calculations, guts and goosebumps,
Guessing which way to go.
Eventually, a shrug and a step, and off she goes, With one path preferred, a wise choice, Made from factors known and unknown,
A new adventure that day.
Some time later, she returns, crossroads again, Perhaps trying a new trail, how it feels, Where it leads, what lingers after.
Again the return, the crossroads, the choice, Finding her way through this path and that,
Until eventually she finds her way, what works, Where light dapples just so, viewpoints abound.
A choice, a pattern, a habit, a comfort, So well known, she can enjoy the moments, Without the worries, the guesswork.
That path becomes the one well-trodden,
Cared for, removing a stray branch after a storm, One she introduces to friends, family,
Tells others of what she loves along the way.
The other path has one less traveler, no matter, Yet over time, fewer pass that particular way, As word spreads of this other lovely path, And it is a wonderful way through the woods, Even if once this other path had its own delights.
Season after season, a branch falls, leaves pile, mud slides, and jagged rocks jut from soil, A toe's stubbed, a momentary stumble, Reaching for balance, grasping at ivy, Coming home with a rash, an accident, And yet, perhaps next time, take the other way.
The trees are no longer trimmed, shadows grow, Animals prowl within the dark, creatures, critters, Those who brave this way find so many eyes, Can feel those stares, lurking, looming, So they stay away, share a spooky story, Someone dares another to search for ghosts, Yet a startle leads to an ankle sprained, A bruised elbow, and legends grow.
These things happen, no real reason, Simply a series of choices and moments, And two paths stretching from a crossroads, Followed different fates, through chance, With the wider world none the wiser.
“The other path”
— Heather Brooke Drummond
February 14, 2026
#poetry #originalpoetry #naturepoetry #paths #fate