A meadowlark call, a brief marked stall on a structured walk.
A couple blocks more and the forest adorns the river and the rocks.
At this stop the wind has not yet been blocked, and it wavers on with the scent of crinkled leaves. 
  And just as it had begun,
the moment ends as the pathway bends.
I know it can be found and felt again, if I'm able to release and retrieve.