returning, coming back, into the fold, after a brief hiatus, a cold shoulder, i walked away, and it sounds familiar, looks the same, the back, the head hung low, the tunnel of naked fall trees, branches reaching over a cobblestone path, and the figure, receding, disappearing. is it a different tunnel? a new light? maybe not a 180, but an exit from the highway, onto frontage paths, closer to stores, nearer to gas stations, time to put the top down, to breathe. how many times can i change my mind? how many times does it make sense, to give up, to try again, to pick up the mantle? childish things? maybe. but there's still a child inside.