At times a few words or moments will fling
A strange shade of light on choices you made
That startle and shackle your steps.
So you ponder as an angler with quietness and thought
Never knowing what from the lake of your depths
Shall pop, float or splatter with mystifying gaze
And tarnish those images you sheltered so long,
Here at the rim of these dark, raven woods
That mock our whirlgig of rides.
Rattled now and awed, I retrace my steps
And search for the charades I had left.