POEM 06

I have strolled this path many a morning. My daily constitutional I choose to call it.

The suns above the horizon already drying the dew. The red squirrels already having a fit.

Sometimes my pace is hurried. My mind won’t grasp a thought.

The birds calling above mere noise, as peace on this tarry I’ve sought.

Sometimes I amble along slowly, matching the rhythm of the breeze.

My soul is labored sometimes on these treks. Sometimes I’m so at ease.

This footpath meanders through a scant woods with clearings here and there.

The shadows grow and shrink with time as light drops without a care.

I journey back home mostly on the straight way. I peer down a crooked leg of the woods and wonder where it goes.

Ah maybe someday I’ll travel there into its cool, damp darkness, rushing along as my fear grows.