As I plod along at a placid place
I ask myself most often if
My mind will ever approach that place?

If I’ll I ever be able to move along
Down that path
Be it into the summer or out of May?

“Your brightest days are yet to pass!”
Or so they say, with each differing dawn
And yet I am still unsure of such path, nowadays

Be it winding or not
How they stretch out before me, and bend at a distance
Turning just around the cornery edge
To entice my mind to stray away

How I’d often jump from rock to rock
Devoid of fear, in my younger days
How I'd fly through the air without forethought
That is until I became aware of this present day

Though still I must, and will I trust in my ginormous feet
For it is time I value, and the steadiness which is found outside
That is, I'm seemingly less capable of turning off my mind

For I am afraid of not being able to see
And witness all the beauty which is stored away
Within such paths

For its there and within that which I expect to find
This path of mine

As a memory to create down each pasture lane
Must be simply folly and waste
To ponder such things with every day
This is what I see

When the decision stretches out before me
Not far away
Like a field of green

Whereas so many others are thus condemned to a barren wasteland
Simply put
Her lushness is just one of the things
That will make me stay

Today
Off the western side of the eastern trees
Bounced back my feelings
And for the first time
Echoed throughout, inside of me
And I am appalled by what I heard
Not what I see

It's been too long** since I had sap on my fingertips, beneath my nails

It's been too long since I've passed by the turkey blind which I built for myself, almost a lifetime ago

It's been too long to know exactly how a clearing fades but never grows

But it's never been too late to walk there again, to ***** my feet in the spring of Earth, and to speak out loud in the cool breeze until I can no longer feel my nose

No, it's never been too long, or too late, for walks like those

This is the path before my feet
Which I'd like to share

The wet grass, the grey clouds, the pine trees
Poking the sky to run their fingers through its hair

Surrounded by the kind of limbs which always thrive
But do not necessarily care, about a man's feelings

How they have listened to me throughout the years
Until my voice is my own in mind

How their echos and their shadows, have carried me in the past
When I was there, and had more weight to bare

But not this time, which is exactly why
I hope you could see both here and there

Beside the talking pines forever
How I hope to walk, without care

I'd describe it for you if you'd ask me
*With a piney laughter in the air