I could speak of the thousands of words typed,
Adding a few more in my poem, or letter,
Of days that centre on a screen, or
in the broken and joyful conversations,
I am a part of each day, loving deeply,
But, my heart is always drawn to walking,
through the bush, passing by a thousand
untold and unheard stories, Unknown
except I took the time to walk, and stop,
and listen to my heart, deep longings
waiting with me, in the wide spaces, the climb,
huge fallen trees, needing to be climbed over,
broken by rot and natures power,
the close green growth, sometimes its claws
scratching me, when taking an adventurous detour,
the times when I see a path that’s not there,
when it dies out and I keep pushing forward, hoping
that it will begin again, but it doesn’t,
Urgency is pushed back and nothing will change,
Nothing typed, nothing spoken, nothing done,
Except my heart is renewed, mystery is explored,
A few hours taken from life, giving abundant life.
