The old plans sit on my desk
like fallen leaves.
I made them with such care then,
believing in what I thought I knew.
Strange how we trust
what we used to think,
as if being further away
makes something more true.
Walking this morning
I saw deer tracks in snow—
they don't follow paths
we cleared for them.
Each step knows more
than all our thinking:
the weight of rain,
the lean of wind,
the way things change
when we're not looking.
You can read tomorrow
in any direction.
But your feet know the earth
right now, right here,
telling you things
you couldn't have written down
before you came.
Just take the next step.
That's all you need to know.
The path will tell you
where to go.