Harder to Keep

Long straight lines of fresh-cut hay,
so fresh you can breathe it in.
The sun is bright, but cold.
It will take a few days to dry.

The trees are bright but shedding.
In a week or so, they will be bare,
but for the moment, it is the picture of harvest,
a perfect autumn day,

A day worth stopping for.
Stopping on the side of the road
and savoring the moment, the air,
the colors. To commit the moment to memory

rather than merely pass it by.
The older I get, the more often I pause,
breathe in the moment
to make it something more.

Kisses linger longer. Hugs hold longer.
There is no rushing from conversations.
Storms are plentiful enough
and treasures are, while not hard to find,

harder to keep.

About this poem.

A poem about the fall in Vermont. A poem about how my sense of time and priorities has shifted with age. About a world so fast it threatens to rob us of joy. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken not far from my home in Vermont.

Tom