Looking at May
Up until now,
my life was a path,
or a series of them,
with hills, forks, bridges,
the occasional fallen log.
But I can see this spring and summer,
just ahead, and they are no road:
a large field, a plain almost,
of grasses and wildflowers waving
in a seeming gentle wind.
There is no clear road ahead,
although I think I can see trees far off,
maybe a river to follow.
Every glimpse through the trees
of that field
makes me nervous and excited
all at once. I know
I have to leave this forest walk,
tread down a path
in the prarie grass.
25 January 2004
my life was a path,
or a series of them,
with hills, forks, bridges,
the occasional fallen log.
But I can see this spring and summer,
just ahead, and they are no road:
a large field, a plain almost,
of grasses and wildflowers waving
in a seeming gentle wind.
There is no clear road ahead,
although I think I can see trees far off,
maybe a river to follow.
Every glimpse through the trees
of that field
makes me nervous and excited
all at once. I know
I have to leave this forest walk,
tread down a path
in the prarie grass.
25 January 2004