The Way Home

Driving home
Snow so thick
There was nothing to see

No highway, no street signs

All there was: blurred by wind;
Doubled up in the reflections
Found

In flakes mirror white
Blinding

There comes a point
When driving through

Flakes mirror white,
Flying

You believe for a half-held breath

In all the tales you giggled about
With the wisdom of youth
Where there is nothing to fear,
Nothing to be

All that remains is to take a deep breath

And trust the path is there.