Out Walking



We are walking, my caddle of cairns,

you and I in the well field park,

me to escape the spoil and tarnish

of a life once light gone dark.

You are excited to walk the wild wood,

scrub oak, myrtle, palmetto flatland

shivering with joyful likelihood

at the rustling of nature’s band.

We glimpse the armadillo scurrying,

the jay busily gathering for the nest;

grey and brown squirrels chattering

to warn the approach of us, the pest.

I hear the screech of the hunting bird

soaring so high above our heads

and the ground owl jumps to blind our herd

feigning injury to persuade us from her bed.

I ask that you stop a moment for me to look up high

to see the sway of the thin pines in the gentle breeze,

to watch the hawk silhouette against the cloud infested sky

to taste the perfect hue of sky blue and pine green pleased.

My eyes scan the acres of palmetto grass,

the greens and yellows of the saber leaves;

shielding the fawn and family that pass

proved by the hoof marks etched in mud, sand and leaves.

Suddenly I am terribly saddened for you;

You are only ten inches high.

You never see the vista view,

the enormity and the size simply passes you by.

But when I explain my melancholy,

you sigh, in the way of ancient wisdom.

I can see you three are amused at my folly;

you share a low view of human opinion.

I now understand- what you have is rooted to ground;

something that humans long ago forgot;

scents to which you are privy where ever you’re bound,

give you the history of all that has happened at that spot.

Five minutes, five days, centuries gone by;

the comings, the goings, the new and the old,

an image of history unfurled to fly

through your center, grounded to your soul.

Ok, ok I am no longer sad, my bounding terrier dogs,

flaying out as long as the leashes will reach,

understanding that we each have a contribution to log

but I am most benefited to have the lessons you teach.


Copyright 1996

Dionne M. Blaesing