I have travelled a long path. No doubt there are still a few footprints behind me. A long path awaits, though in time not as long as the one already traversed. But you stopped my steps and tilted your head. You do not know me nor my path. You will surely quickly fly away. For this moment, though, you paused to hold me still in softness. And then the whisper that could any memory of past footprints or imagination of those to come be more real than the tilted head and presence that holds me now?