Sometimes you come to a narrow bridge.
It’s a log, really, or a thin board
over a raging stream.
You step out onto it.
All around you, pressing in,
is the agony of convention.
You are responsible.
You do as you must.
It is a cold death enclosing
around you, pushing, forcing.
And yet, that board is so thin.
It flexes under your weight.
Will it hold? The cold presses in.
The river rages on.
There is no plan.
There is no time to plan.
Death is near.
For once in your life,
you must decide.
-Anthony Signorelli
Image licensed from Shutterstock
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