I ponder the ‘roads not taken,’ as well as the roads that ‘have made all the difference.’ Lovely poetry filled with existential ambiguity.
We choose our roads, ‘knowing how way leads on to way.’
But today the roads are snow-filled. The street signs obscured. The way leading on to way won’t show itself.
And somehow, Cheshire Cat-like, I find that ‘any road will take me there, when I don’t know where I am going.’
As the familiar streets vanish beneath a cloak of snowy white I know that ‘ages hence’ I will sigh.
Remembering how I lost my way on a day that I thought I knew where I was going…