I am walking on a wooden bridge

Sitting on the edge of a brook
Flowing with clear water from a grassy and lush hill.
The sound of the brook like a crackling
Fills my ears
Makes me oblivious to myself.
The breath of nature digs itself into my nostrils with its blades of grass
And infuses my soul.
Its pellucid water is an undulating carpet of silver.
I cannot see anything else.

I am stable on the bridge, a solid feeling that holds me up.
I study the bridge, kneeling down.
The planking is smooth, worn down by rain and snow.
The rusted nails still bite deep into the wood
And hold the bridge steady.
Its sides moist and cool
Dark-colored and fresh
From the brook that flows below.
I am safe.

I am gazing at the clouds
Staring at them.
My eyes rooted to the white wisps that move slightly in the wind
But the wind is no more than a breeze, the breath of a being divine.
The clouds are anchored by an unknown fastening force in the sky.
I am dismayed
Because I cannot go up
With the clouds
To see the lands open up
Like a book
Before my eager eyes.

I am gazing at the stalks
Witnessing the stalks embracing the clouds
Feeling the earthly and archaic energy of the stalks seeping into the clouds.
The stalks move, carrying the clouds with them
Double-bent like old men
But as lively as naughty children.
I am mollified
My disappointments carried away
Forgotten forever.

The tall stalks of wheat sway again as an sudden gust ripples over them.
Opening up and closing
On a path
Overgrown with weeds and little stalks.
I suddenly stop.
My shoes squeak and catch on a loose nail that I had not seen.
The impediment to my progress
Is kicked away into the brook
Gone forever.
My feet walk on unconsciously
On and on
In my signature gait
On my own path.

My consciousness wakes up
And is alarmed
When I am stopped by a dead end.
My naïve bliss ends quickly.
Have I wasted my life?