ANOTHER WALK DOWN THE SAME ROAD

ANOTHER WALK DOWN THE SAME ROAD

 

I don’t understand “routine.”

Nothing bores.

Something crossed the road, here.

 

I don’t know what, yet. I don’t know when—

yesterday at sunset, or in the dark, or at dawn—

that’s what I’m trying to discover.

 

If you had the sense, I’d tell you.

If you would stop pulling and walk nicely,

you would not miss countless meadow voles,

 

chipmunks crouching in the roadside brushpiles,

the red squirrel peering from a hole in the dead pine,

the owl lumbering through the trees.

 

Stop. Sit. Wait.

Even now, in the woods 

at the edge of the long hay field, something stirs.

 

One comment on “ANOTHER WALK DOWN THE SAME ROAD

  1. Christine Lee Moore says:

    I feel like in this time of strangeness, one of the silver linings is that people are outside more. Perhaps more patient. Perhaps more observant. I saw kids with boots and buckets looking for tadpoles in the still ponds in the woods.

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