In the woods
Does not go by appointments
Or schedules or to-do’s–
Time goes by the
Lengthening of shadows,
The quickening of the breeze,
The warming of the sun,
The melting of the ice.
Time is not sand through an hourglass–
It is sand eroded off the riverbank,
The falling of leaves and
Blossoming of buds,
Thoughts dissipating like clouds.
I used to feel sorry for the birds that only lived a few years,
But a day in the woods is a month in a world of to-do’s
And four walls,
Now so far away.
As water bottles lighten and boys mark their territories,
The shadows chase the sun and catch up to the moon.
Time ebbs and flows downstream,
Captured in river rocks toted home in my daughter’s backpack,
Sunshine in her pink cheeks.