The house is quiet, the world is dark
And my thoughts stray far from their intended mark.
My mind wanders back to places I’ve been
And I wonder, in light of today, should I have been happier then?
The river glides, and flows and flows,
But does it choose down which path it goes?
We think of intent, and want, and worry,
What happens when we stop and cease to hurry?
Maybe the trees have it right:
Staying in one spot — growing towards the light.