\"Inroad Spring\"
the track runs through low scrub,
a thin line worn by weather
and countless soles before.
springs self reveal in small ways—
a warmer breath of wind,
a looseness in the soil.
I keep on without rush.
those who steadied me
walk with a quiet weight,
not pushing, not pulling,
just keeping their pace
as the ground shifts under us.
behind me, the old house sits
with its doors half‑closed.
old worry turned sharp,
loss talk grown tight.
I leave it as it stands,
rooted in its own season.
out here, the brush moves easy.
a few birds lift and settle,
unbothered by my passing.
the road gives only what it can—
dust, a bit of warmth, spring
bubbling from dirt and stone.
.