First poem in awhile

Years of Trails


After years of snow and years of rain
spring came
alight, in the afternoon,
with a soft sun.

The rivers high
turned bronze with mud and light,
and running swiftly.

Trees bloomed with leaves.

All the blank spaces filled
with light and color.

Wind-jackets were dusted off.

Cold air was warm,
and, in a breeze,
swam around sunday morning walkers.

A new freedom arrived and opened up.




Each old trail among the years of trails
is paved with mulch,
sun-dried browns and whites,
and we don't know which path to take,
(and this is a good thing)
and looking into the distance

we're unable to see where they disappear