In the woods we call home
walking feels like a simple proposition, sturdy shoes, light jacket, a well-beaten path
through dark and ancient growths, and down the path a safe place
where Grandma lives
by a creek
a big stone
and an inviting fire around which to dry our wet bones.
We only have to stay on the marked path and not be lured by strange
shadings, bubbles of color, a mushroom, a flower
a deer looking straight up.
All the reasons we need
to dilly-dally, here and there would take us off our beaten path.
Long-limbed shadows hiding sun and direction
bodies and tails scurrying left and right
under our noses,
can distract us easily as we attempt a steady landing
grounded in the present.
When last moments come, they
are a gentle slip of the foot
a moment in the high wire act
we call life.
Not at all like waterfalls free-falling toward unknown landings.