In the beginning,
this poem exhibited some reluctance
to cooperate (as you can see);
or even to ride along with me
at least until the next bridge
where we could have crossed it together
if we had gotten to it
in my pretty red truck.
But I stopped before the bridge,
got out, and began walking downstream
through this fine mountain valley.
Alone.
After I made it around the first bend,
I thought I heard the poem approaching;
sensed it getting closer to my brain,
perhaps changing its attitude.
Then, as I stopped, and looked back upstream,
there it was, indicating a desire to come along.
As it came closer, shyly at first,
I reached out to pat its shoulder.
It gave me a little nudge.
The poem now became gracious
in my presence;
and began pointing out a few things I might have missed:
Like the way the stream collected
the big sky and trees,
and returned these reflections for me to reflect on.
Like the sound of the current
that tumbled over and around
huge, smooth boulders.
It even called attention
to the satisfied sound
of my own breathing,
as I inhaled the essence
of Ponderosa Pines.
I sat down in the pine-needled sunlight
to further absorb this pleasant landscape,
and hopefully become better acquainted
with this poem, and its intentions;
but as I looked around,
it was gone. Just like that.
And long lines of words
evaporated into the big sky.
© 2021 Richard Havenga
