Don’t take a walk,
give one.
Barefoot or shod,
pause ever
so briefly as you press
to the ground.
Hikers of switch-back trails
call it the rest-step,
which is a kind of meditation
at the heart of going.
The planet can feel
this lost harmony
of the body and its breath,
pathlessly meandering
through trillium silence
in the dangled gaze
of columbine
over glowing moss,
careful not to tread
on cream drops of
paschal flower,
caressing the loam
yet never quite arriving.
This way,
you won’t disturb the marmot
at his prayers.
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