The Crackling Path (poem)
The Crackling Path They crackle softly, a carpet of pebbles beneath my feet, whispering every sound back to me. Worn by time and stripped of shape, yet shining like diamonds, they sing together in a quiet choir. Their song follows the rhythm of my thoughts, wandering as I walk, gently carrying me forward. When my path is stopped by an old and weathered gate, my fingers trace its rusty flakes. I stand still and look around. The stones remind me of who I once was, singing like a nightingale. Life smooths the sharp edges of every pebble, turning them gray and worn. Yet each remains a part of the music life creates. As I touch the crooked gate once more, I see the hands of an artist long gone, forging it with love and passion. Now I notice the lines upon my own face. Was I not once an artist too? Perhaps the greatest passion is simply to live. With you not only in my heart, but in every fiber of my being, our path has been shaped by passion, and by the gift of being shaped in return....