Out Walking – Among Nature And Poetry
Traveling down my usual path
I came to the end of the road.
Nothing reminiscent of Frost’s two paths.
No glorious crossroads.
but an old tree stump,
where blooming life once stood.
Stuck as well, I stood still as the stump,
feeling its paralysis in silent communion.
I could turn and go back;
head for the comforts of home.
Or go around it, I suppose, and forge
on straight ahead. Today, though, I
chose to stop and rest on the stump.
Though the wooden widow made quite a
pleasant chair, I suspect the trade unfair,
as I must have paled
in comparison to its earlier foliage.
From my new vantage point,
as my pulse slowed to calm, I began
to notice Earth’s movements around me.
Leaves twitched and giggled in the wind.
Squirrels wrestled nearby
unconcerned with my presence.
Clouds more like commas
slid toward tomorrow.
I have no idea how long I stayed there,
or what brought me back to the trail,
but I’d venture to say that if I had
an eternity to rest in that place, it
would not have been time wasted.