At any one point, I can only see so far ahead
or behind.  Whenever I get there is when I arrive.
 
Tell time from the way fir shadows fall.
Call down canyons . . .
 
Sing with my echo,
a ball that always bounces back.
 
When my retriever tires of being the leader,
his wet nose behind my knee nudges me forward.
 
Camping by a small nameless lake,
gather pine cones and pitch to kindle a fire.
 
Meteors shoot like sparks across constellations,
smolt darting in a stream.
 
Keep clear of bears. Recite “The Road Not Taken”,
so they know I am there.
 
Chipmunks make the best friends.
If coyotes howl at the moon, join the choir.
 
Pace myself.  Move at a steady beat.
Be persistent as rain.
 
 
This poem first appeared in Split Rock Review.
Used here with the author's permission.