What does it mean to move
one foot in front of the other,
under boughs of trees planted long before
we were born,
under a rising sun, that since
creation has risen and fallen into
her place obscured some days but
under the pretense that we don’t have
to forage food or to be neighborly and kind?
Driving away our steps lost,
and our early demise comes fast.
A simple act, so recently neglected,
but so needed in this hyper, coddled existence
if only to feel the cool breeze,
to see the sun peeking out waving in cerulean glee
grateful to see us out and about on feet, moving forward.