Bicycling one evening after deep dusk
yellow light from a window spreads itself on the ground
silhouetting a young deer
caught in a fine moment of grace –
and my wheels carry me on.
In the morning I tread on fragile icy grass-sheaths,
in the evening I kick through the leaves
between the bus stop and my door,
wondering at the other moments missed in the relentless pace of day–
and my feet carry me forward
I only noticed on the first snow that summer had come and gone,
tripping along from cherry blossoms to fallen leaves,
and I was strangely sad for canoe paddles that never reached cool lake water
and paints and paper smelling of city and not pine –
and time carries me onward.
I grasp at ideas while thoughts run circles in my head
hopelessly curious of the most insignificant insight
until I take a moment to really stop
and then the thinking is terrifying –
unless it carries me away from self.
I, too, felt "strangely sad for canoe paddles that never reached cool lake water." Summer was a blur of work, stress and moving. But thank you to my lovely daughter who who helped me survive it all! Maybe we can dream in February of camping next to a lake somewhere, hiking and canoeing on a warm summer's day.
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