You walk. The morning sun rises to greet you.
It is a slow journey, through landscapes
once strange, now familiar.
You know these fields. You know their seasons.
The cycle of wildflowers and hay and harvest.
You see them thrive and wither with the weather.
It has been harder than people might believe
to slow down enough to see. To understand.
To believe speed kills most of what has value
or at least, makes you miss it.
About this poem.
I had a short facebook conversation about driving with a friend this morning. People would not think it of me, but I drive way to fast way too often. Not on interstates. But on country roads, I love driving way too fast. I lose myself in the alertness of connecting with the road and its curves and anticipating the next move.
But I do not drive fast all the time. It’s a mood thing. Other times I drive like my grandfather, slow, with my head swinging from side to side taking in the farms and fields that surround me here in Southwestern Vermont.
I had to learn to slow down. Not just driving, but in life. I took on faith the idea that slowing down and smelling the proverbial roses was a good one. And it has been. worth every effort. Though from time to time I wonder how much I missed running at full tilt.
Be well. Travel wisely,