The woods are quiet
This morning,
Footfalls on wet leaves,
The subtle rustle
Of Autumn.
I imagine you
Beside me,
Time a spiral,
Rather than a circle,
Growing older
But never old,
Wise and Stately
Like trees.
Categories: Poetry
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…