Walking
Fresh paper,
new pen,
same old thoughts
again.
Though I'd like
to hide,
I'm heading
outside.
I listen
for birds.
New thoughts form
new words.
Cold snow in
my face.
Those words start
to race.
Keep walking.
Get clear.
The rhythm
I hear
and feel in
my feet—
that regular
beat—
turns into
a poem
before I'm
back hoem.
Fresh paper,
new pen—
inspired
again.
Today's walk in the first snow of the winter was a surprise even though we had seen it in the forecast. Rosy had to fetch her flying disk instead of the whistling ball she chased all summer. She made the switch like a champ.
The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Today's Little Ditty. Enjoy!