Trying to find the right way
When there is no trail to follow,
It’s best to still yourself.
Talk to your gut.
Look for distant landmarks.
Make one if there are none.

A waypoint can be a prayer
As well as a direction.
It can also be pointless,
Or an obstacle, if you let it.

When marking your trail,
Be sure you know
If you’re hoping to find your way,
Or have someone else find you,
Or both.
Otherwise, let it be camouflage
Unless to those looking.

I used to come across
Deer lay, birds nests,
Other animal dens and warrens,
Often when wandering loose
In trailless woods
Undergrowth so thick
Feet are hidden with ferns,
Tripping vines, and tall trees
Downed so long ago,
Now stumps and moss,
The old men of the forest floor,
The rocks being their grandfathers yet.

I used to apologize for stumbling into
Someone’s home by accident,
Imagining they chose the safety
Of a place only a reckless
Wanderer, intent lost, would find.
Having found a place once one’s home,
Their ways to and fro become told.
No one is lost where one nests.

I was usually seeking other things, curiosities, vantages or answers,
And having arrived to tell,
I found my way.