when young I walked the golden path with my father into

our talking place. Leaves were green buds were growing seeds were
sown trees bowed down. Birds had their nests ready for their young.
Robins fluttered in their tender loves, Blue Jays coyed and cooed to their ones.
Squirrels  played among the dense greenness, jumping like acrobats,
impressing me and the young girl squirrels.

I was thirteen,  I was grown, Oh, did I think!

My father so wise, said "All is life is beautiful. All has a season. Trees have a name as do squirrrels. You have mine. I am proud"

That was all he said.