allielousch - The play is the thing

I played Sunday.

After church I exchanged jackets, shoes, and socks

in my car for sturdier fare then drove to the soggy foggy Hobbit trails.

Along the leaf strewn red clay path

I skipped

and ran a bit

after a trail runner

who had scared me out of my thoughts

and into new ones.

I bent low

to look more closely

at leaves

moss

frilly fungi

churned up streams

litter

trail.

I decided how I'd returnto the trails

to play in the creeks

and avoid

snakes

and ticks

and errant hunters.

I imagined

ancient ones

creeping silently

along the way

but not the path;

over there behind that massive rock

hidden by trees

and surprise.

We'd be friends

I hope

if we were to ever meet.

Share our bread

fire

stories

songs

dances

and winter berries.

The after-brunch conversation

of a chattering

chasing

squirrel

and a tiny finch-like bird

that winged

and loopy-de-looped

past my

astonished

eyes.

I heard bullfrogs and warblers

croaking

and...warbling.

Rain tappity-tapping

on a million

winter-withered leaves

and the soothing

tumbling

of a few bumbling brooks.

I met a few dogs

And a few more people

This hardy bunch

of Sunday

Wayfarers.

I played

and dreamed

and imagined

and sniffled

and sang a little song

quietly to myself

while I poked a stick

into a sleeping hole-home

along the bank

and later pretended to be

a mountain goat

leaping from stone to stone.

I left damp

A little dog-soggy

and happy

filled

tired

prayer-filled

and reverent

"thank you. thank you. thank you, lord."

after a few Sabbath day hours

along a rain-soaked

fog drippy

Hobbit Trails of Elachee.

At 44

I played

along a road

less traveled

and explored.

And it made all the difference.

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The play is the thing

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