Twigs

The twigs under my feet,
Cracking audibly with each step.
Too many, indeed too many…
A leap and a bound,
A conscious detour here and there...
But the pitfalls ~ too many
And the sound
It still goes CRACK!

The beauty of the ground.
Is it in the fallen leaves, the strewn twigs?
Or in the feet that walk through,
And in the sound of the twigs going snap?

Or both?

The potential smell of emotions possessed
Or the odour of those expressed?
Anger withheld?
Or tears in full flow…

Which and how often?