I shuffle forward along the forest floor,
impeded by the infirmities of an Old Man.
I rest by a crystal-clear-blue stream,
lost in the futile dreams of a Young Man.

Filling my canteen to the brim, I
drink my fill—water clear and bright.
Standing to resume my walk,
my footsteps are sure and light.

A wind-fallen tree blocks my way,
Old Man’s voice cautions, “go around,
don’t risk harm in those tangled limbs,”
Young Man’s voice asserts, “hold your ground.”

I face the obstacle in my path,
weigh the two voices in my head.
Pick my way around the impasse,
or jump—end up impaled or dead?

I reflect on the wisdom of my years—
marvel at the Young Man’s absence of fear.