My Father’s Son

We’re on a path of our own choosing.
How wonderful to know,
stumbling on logs, and tripping on roots,
that the way is set,
not by precedent,
but by ourselves.

Oh, it is hard,
at times,
to hold that confidence,
the surety that this path is best,
among all the paths one might choose.
And yet, it need not be.

We trod our way,
veer to the side,
climb a tree,
ford a stream,
toss a stone,
smell a bloom,
stick a leaf in our hair,
not because it is best.

But merely,
we do these things,
because they are ours to choose.