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

always there,

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.

 

 

Hour Six