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 don't stop to contemplate,

      just take off my shoes, feel

            the grass ripple in the wake. 

 

 

© by Kay N. Sanders.

Used with the author's permission.