One step. One step. One step. Slow.
Steps halting, faltering. Finally not moving at all.
Finally sitting on the path, the earth still beneath me, thinking. Waiting.
Weighing the possibilities.
Turning over small things, detritus from whomever passed here before I came. A cowrie shell, a black bead, a scrap of reddened cloth. Letting touch soothe me as I wait.
As I think.
As I decide.