Encircled by a stand of many trees I stand.

I face the winter sun between the lines on either hand.

On either side stream shadow lines of blue upon the snow;

Behind, ahead the lines flow from me far as sight will go.

I face the sun-- the way ahead is bright, the lines are clear;

I turn my back-- my shadow leans with all the lines away from here

and into darkness, trunks and snow and shadow there.

Two paths to choose: ahead or back. Snow does not really care.