Few footprints mark the path that winds quietly round the lake.

I go there when I need a place of peace to meditate.

Now in the early spring I go to fill my cup with life.

Drained by winter’s cold and trials, battered by stress and strife.

Ice clumps float against the shore where tree roots lie exposed.

New plants struggle to break free of woodland, decomposed.

With each step down the path I take, I leave old thoughts behind.

And step from out the shell I am as spring winds clear my mind.

There is beauty in a quiet cove as infant waves play there.

A tiny ground squirrel romps about oblivious to despair.

If my load is heavy, my soul near drowned, the earth pays it no heed.

Life teaming underneath the soil is determined to succeed.

High above in naked trees birds congregate to chat.

Some unknown whistle blows the call that brings their brothers back.

Refreshed now, I retrace my steps on the footpath round the lake.