The sun's a little higher every day
But temperature's near freezing as we climb
The earth is frozen solid on our way
The steps still leave me heated, winded. Rime
And shadowed depths of morning chill lie deep
No mountain, just a park, the hill's not tall
Just steps from where we, daily, work and sleep.
Cicadas in the summer, leaves in fall.
Three times I've watched this park shift into spring,
From summer's furnace, loud cicadas, sweat
To autumn leaves, now winter's bitter sting
Three years - it hasn't lost its newness yet.
Ten minutes daily in this park, I breathe
Under the deodars, alive, relieved.
No comments:
Post a Comment