People are born from time and die by its reign,
Drifting away like the wisps of a cloud,
Catch it before it disappears,
Jumbled numbers on a clock,
Past, present, and future endeavors depend on it,
Found on buildings, walls, churches, everywhere,
It changes people’s feelings, faces, figures,
Hearing the ticking sound drives me crazy,
Why can’t we stop it or pause time for a second,
We can’t escape the burdens of a lifetime.
It was my eyes. They wandered at the sky looking for a clue or a cause.
I found the fruit of the pine tree. Large and delicate
It was real and fantastic.
I run my small innocent hands over the rough pointy edges
Wanting to get hurt, but touching the white-tipped ponderosa pine
Sparked my mind to relax to the sounds of the snapping branches in the cold. When they snapped,
The cones landed on the ground laughing,
Waiting to be picked up by a faceless traveler with nowhere to go.
The silly sassy squirrels sat softly on the ground eating the jumbo
Ponderosa seeds.
Should I join them. Become their friend?
They smile at me again spitting the briskly conifer edges on the ground. They only live to have fun and to roll on that cold ground.
As they roamed around the snowcapped hilltops, enjoying the sharp punch of pine in the brisk breeze, my lungs enjoyed the weather. The squirrels fed me pine. – Teri Iozia (The author is a frequent Current contributor.)