A month has gone by, gone,
I have been busy, what have I done,
I smile at the faces in the market,
they smile back, there are no strangers
here,
no one knows me, well not really,
it is just not done or right, where we live,
I ride my bike weighted down with goods,
the wheels turn, but always come back to the same spot,
just like I do, where
I live on the edge of the wild woods,
as we called to each other
as children, "never go there alone",
like I do, like I live, like I love
to spend time, like it is the only currency that counts,
walk and run among the trees and fall of leaves,
as a child I did so in fear,
and the fear of being caught,
as an adult
there is no fear,
except
one day it will stop.
I will stop.
But not, at least, this month.



©ClemC112013