Day 47

3/28/2006

Thoughts on a year before the masthead

Another circle 'round the sun, a roll call of seasons,
No expectation goes untrampled, no knee unskinned.
The paving stones are quarried, cleaned and shaped,
And placed in the lengthening stone path fronting
The door of my cabin up in Maine.

The whisper of wind filtering through the tousled tree-tops
Rocks my hammock slung between yesteryear and yesterday.
Started out an ornery cuss from day one,
But that vein soon pinched out when I unlaced my boots,
Yanked the socks, and waded across.

If I see my footsteps facing backwards in the crusty snow,
My trail back home finds me.

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