The paths that you walk into life will outlive you,
they are what the earth will remember you by,
they are your genes scattered like ashes
across the great landscapes
in memory of your brief passing,
your wild oats.

Be mindful of where you tread.

Others have walked them before you,
but it is you that turned the stone
that sent the small, tail-less creature scuttling for other cover.
It is your weight that gently bruised the buchu bush
and released its oily scent into the hot, still air.
It was a drop of cool, sweet water
from your scooped hand
that wet the stones at your feet.
Your winter morning breath
that whitened the air before you.

Be mindful of where you tread.

The paths that you walk into life will outlive you,
Others have walked them before you,
and still others will follow.

Be mindful of where you tread.

Make your passing like the bright sparks of protea seeds,
released into a fire blackened landscape,
alight with the certainty of the very first bird song,
to anticipate the dawn,
bequeath each step to the path behind you,
age, like the cedar
that deepens its perfume with time,
attune yourself, like the nightjar,
to the dark.

Be mindful of where you tread.