A wood thrush throws down
her pretty song gentle as the light
filtered through a million layers of green.
Away from the scheduled
rules, routines, expectations
we wander from sun to shade
hand in hand.
Brother, I found something here -
a small rock we can kick or
toss into the creek.
The road is lined with
these rocks, the forest is full of sticks.
No one cares if we wave them.
The Friday Poetry round up is at A Year of Reading. Enjoy!