Don’t we all walk a path
Which looks here and there,
In shadows it hides and the sun sometimes blinds us?
I wondered long and hard over when my feet would lead
Where I thought it looked like a leading place lay.
If not paved quite, cleared- not thick with thorny brush,
But it was.
A bit bloodied, at a clearing I rested, awhile.
And took in the scene of miles of green,
all, I admit, in my mind.
It seemed, quite a sudden, just as it should be.
Just as it should be, and I continued on.
At times since, I’ve passed a soul
And we look at each other and have our reaction.
In each case we move along, because that is what we are for,
a cry of “but for you” echoes from long ago.
Everything in the green of woods echoes,
And one woman or man, animal or child, is no more or less than any other.
A journey song one’s memory sings, in joy for each step.
There is love, sometimes, when a bird’s wings pace me,
and a mushroom shrivels up in sight,
and when I catch a glance of another’s feet step, legs marching,
and they see me and let go with sweetness,
and I am a memory, I am a spirit respected,
forgiven…then there is love.
When I bow my head to the beauty of these things,
Then there is life.