from Daedalus Rising
At times we feel the need to go back
to plain things. To stones, earth,
grass, wind. To things we have known
a long time, to what we knew
when what filled the hours was dirt
and a few sticks, a pile of leaves
or some thin, white bones
from a long-dead bird.
The huge rock near the creek
was not too hard to lie on then
and the sun on bare skin felt warm.
We did not feel the press of time
as we do now. The world seemed firm
and real, and life was slow, and long, and good.
At times we feel the need to go back
to plain things. To stones, earth,
grass, wind. To things we have known
a long time, to what we knew
when what filled the hours was dirt
and a few sticks, a pile of leaves
or some thin, white bones
from a long-dead bird.
The huge rock near the creek
was not too hard to lie on then
and the sun on bare skin felt warm.
We did not feel the press of time
as we do now. The world seemed firm
and real, and life was slow, and long, and good.
Rosie read this poem at the start of our Whittling and Mindfulness class. Is it about our ancestors, or is it about childhood? What do you think?
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