Good Luck
I was making the wrong decision last week, watching myself actively trotting down the last leg of a path that I should have never taken.
There’s a margin of error for the perfect places I am transported to on my own breathing. But I have rotten luck. The way I let things escalate, it’s the habit that keep my phobias growing all around me, like a garden, like a menagerie.
And as I was walking towards my certain doom, towards this new mistake in a long string of mistakes, my shoes started digging into my heels and a cutting pain went up my leg and I knew I had to turn around and run away from all of this.
That’s when the birch tree growing in the plot next to the path said to me, “Good luck.”
I’m sure she meant it kindly, and I’m sure she’d be happy to know that I’m still running.
[© 2010 Sophia Nelson]
