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 

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

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.