It is almost metaphorical, a walk on the first day of the year.
The one-step-at-a-timeness of it,
how the breath animates and
invigorates the body, the quiet
of winter just before a storm
the sense of leaving something behind in the old year,
the way a path offers
new-to-you views
of a world you’ve only seen in passing.
Leaving home and coming back
unchanged but also different.
You cannot unwind the steps you’ve taken
any more than
you can unwind time.
The metaphor is there,
I think, but
I fear it is too on the nose to be good poetry.
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