Crossover

Where the crossroads met
The ground was well-trod.  She mulled
Over the sign painted white and red
Decoding what it said.
Which way to go?  She didn't know yet.

The painted wood was so bright
It hurt her eyes - four non-committal fingers
Pointed into distances beyond sight.
Two seemed familiar.  She realised
They were the ways she'd come, the fights

She'd won to be standing still.
The other two unknown, not uniform.
One was black, cut a straight line uphill,
Stark and bare - it chilled.
The other tilted downhill,

Meandering, untidily flowered, cobblestones
Glowing in the sun - a haphazard, coggly track
Oozing ease with no overtones
Of strife, no push.  It spoke companions and plans,
Compromise, duality, no loads, no being alone.

She was no fool now - discerned absorption
When she saw it, time mutation 
Where all is diffuse, nothing certain.
Wanting a self-disciplined creation
She chose her Fate: took the chiselled one -

		Took it on the rise
		And didn't look back.

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