Last day of summer break
††††† before school starts, a friend
††††††††††† helps me measure, mark, and mow
a path into the backyard grass,
††††† circle within circle that turns
††††††††††† and wends its way to the center,
a non-linear labyrinth pattern.†
††††† No dead ends, no path not taken,
††††††††††† no losing the way.†The way in†
is the way out.†I walk it often,
††††† in slow and meditative mood,
††††††††††† watching, listening, learning
step by step my own backyard.
††††† And then one day, Tess arrives.
††††††††††† Tess, age eight, with her wide,
round eyes.†She leaps onto the path,
††††† races to the center and back again,
††††††††††† trailing laughter like a handful
of leaves thrown to the wind.
††††† She calls, a bell-clear tone,
††††††††††† come and run.†For once
I donít stop to contemplate,
††††† just take off my shoes, feel
††††††††††† the grass ripple in the wake.†
© by Kay N. Sanders.
Used with the authorís permission.