Path
The wet path struggled
to hold me back.
Spring’s tough bracken
and branches hunched with rain
slapped my face.
Out of breath
I stopped midway. Swung
to stillness, the limbs that overhung
dangled new green beads of elderberry,
and each suspended in a clear globe of
rain
the upended image of the trees.
In that magnified miniature
my green path curved toward the sky.