Paths

There are pathways. Treading clear and even, usually straight with perfect winding ways. Lines evenly dotted with trees or benches. Designed efficiently, clutter free. Lucky to have stumbled upon them, the strong even gait easily accomplished when singular events and goals collide. We are not messy and our voices are even and subdued, like our paths. We lead each other sanely, and distract the madness to gnarled messes, scattering them away. Off our path. Our colors see neutral with splashes of green or blue. Distinctly sky and distinctly grass adorn our paths.