Padding Slowly

up the path
I have time to smell the sap
of the pine trees, to try
to decipher the bird trills
above me, to linger by the pond
watching the turtles
engage in Tantric sex
on the high end of the log.

It’s a watchful walk,
meditational;
reminding myself
not to rush,
not to look so far ahead
in life’s matters.
Like Marcus Aurelius lecturing
himself
on being better.

If I take the time
to look hard, listen and
soak in what nature offers—
I find Timelessness;

And then gratitude for
this smiling toddler approaching,
both arms out
being led
down the path
by a butterfly.

By: RW Mayer

RW Mayer grew up in Southern Oregon and has been an educator in Oregon and Washington. He lives in Seattle, Washington where he reads and writes, and fiddles with the guitar. His poetry has appeared in Breatheveryone.net, The Write Launch, Untenured, The Closed Eye Open, MacQueen’s Quinterly, and others.