a burden shared

lifting a warm cup between fingers. a chill sets in. we linger. evening comes.

steam wisps twirl till unseen. 
lifting, always lifting higher higher, 
as tendrils of smoke from fire.

a poet once wrote

in the woods two roads diverge, i the wiser
followed the tugging heart 
heeding warnings for boys like me:

“question, always question the beaten path” 
oh how i believed.

through brambled trails i wove between 
broken branches, bending reeds, bruised wicks, hidden pockets of primrose and poison, wondering, all the while wondering

who taught the wise these things? 
and where do they call home?
yes, yes, many boys become men lost
seeking ways through forest and frost,

but i’ve found secret trails
aren’t shortcuts or brighter days, 
every path splits open wounds, 
no story is invulnerable,

nothing guaranteed. all is gift.

even in abandonment no life is lived

utterly alone.

who knows, someday we may reach a clearing 
and stumble upon one another, embracing.
the few of us who carried packs 
sit down to kindle a fire, 
pouring water,
steeping our smiles
in time spent together.

lifting a warm cup 
between fingers. 
a chill sets in.
we linger. 
evening 
comes.

we sip

and speak until 
all the questions

become the companions 
they have always been.

we smile as comforting sips warm our throats. 
we smile as a comforting glow warms our souls.

and i recall how two roads diverged,
separate stories bringing only renewed joys

for those who hold mugs together in the evening,

speaking of intertwining things like us,

a burden shared is burden enough for both of us.