The Winter of 1998 was the first time in over two decades that I found myself immobilized by heavy snow of Michigan. For three very long days. One result of that enforced isolation was a poem called Winter's Threads.

Not being one to repeat past mistakes (I much prefer the excitement of making new ones), I packed my motor home the day after Christmas, 1999, with the intention of spending winter in California. I made it only as far as Louisiana, where I stopped to visit family (and instead became involved with family). Nonetheless, I stayed warm, renewed some familial bonds, and learned I'm really not very well suited to the travelling life.

Eight weeks later, with warm weather breaking in Michigan, I again headed North. While on the road, with little else to occupy my mind, I penned this sequel to Winter's Threads. And like its precursor, the poem is less about Winter and more about the choices we make in life.

(With apologies to Robert Frost, who also wrote of choices, in a very similar format - and did it much, much better.)

This poem originally was published in Poems on Life

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Winter's Roads
by Ron Carnell
I cannot speak for all who stem
'Long roads less traveled as their way,
Nor question choices made by them
In days long past or nights long dim
by words they spoke and did not say.

Each road is long, though short it seems,
And credence gives each road a name
Of fantasies sun-drenched in beams
Or choices turned to darkened dreams,
To where each road wends just the same.

From North to South, then back again,
I followed birds like all the rest
Escaping nature's snowy den
On roads I've seen and places been,
Forsaking roads that traveled West.

This journey grows now to its end,
As road reflections lined in chrome
Give way to roads with greater bend
And empty signs that still pretend
They point the way to home sweet home.

But all roads lead to where we go
And where we go is where we've been,
So home is just a word we know,
That space in time most apropos
For where we want to be again.

For even home, it seems to me,
Is still a choice we all must face
From day to day and endlessly,
To choose if home is going to be
Another road - or just a place.

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