The path was small here, but sure.

Spring had come quickly to this small wood.

I had passed the brook some few hours ago.

There lay those who had meant to waylay me.

Their stories would lie with them now.

Now no-one knew the paths I took.

Now I could change my face, my garb for the last time.

Long had I roamed the world away from men.

They brought me no peace those past times.

Never again would I let down my guard.

Never again would I show them my true face.

In peace I came to this land, and in peace I would leave.

Long had I hoped to find my true home, but it was not to be.

Not yet.

Not until I would see the moon rise over the desert lands again.

The inselbergs I had long ago abandoned lay before me now.

My path has come full circle.

In my heart I am home already.

________

This prose-poem was inspired by a picture I am using as a screen saver. I found it online doing a search for “spring”. The format and length of this piece were determined by the physicality of the journal that I wrote this in.  I chose to make the sentences not wrap around – they had to end when the page ended on the right.  The poem had to be completed on that one page, so I had to plan the finish early. I am also reading an Andre Norton book right now, and that influenced the tone.