Light plays
Across treetops,
Singing in registers
Only heard in the
Earliest hours of morning.
Long shadows etched in
Frost move with
The advancing breeze.
I grasp the brief
Communal,
Holding it close
Before it slips
Away,
Replaced by those
Pressing and insistent
Lists of whom to be
And what to do
That mark most
Of my
Days.
June 28, 2024
I mostly run on gravel roads, the kind that promise solitude and dust. My pace has slowed, as has most of life, become more of a quiet watching than a frenzied doing. I am less Read more…