We walk a slow three miles along a forest trail
pawed by game, rutted by melt & frequent rain.
Thousands of wildflowers spring from leaf-fall —
trout lily, trillium, bloodroot, dutchman’s breeches
noble hepatica, blue cohosh, early meadow rue.
Only near the end do I start to stumble, my eight-
decade-old feet beginning to flag, the rest of me
wanting to be stronger, to walk & witness longer
but also to be sitting back in the car. My brother
stumbles all the distance but pays age no mind.
My grandchildren, white sneakers caked with mud
thumbs now & again on phones, all but prance.
No comments:
Post a Comment