Thanksgiving for a Path

When I would curse or cry or shout,

I take a walk to vent it out:

To tread alone among the trees,

Feel warmed by sunlight, cooled by breeze.

Soothed by every fall of feet,

A gentle metronomic beat.

Thus as I pace the air smells clear,

Whatever season of the year.

 

Summer with pure azure vault,

Melts away self-loathing fault.

Autumn in its hazy light

softens rage and restores sight.

Winter fuels creative mind:

Leaves anxious hindrance far behind.

Spring in steps propels the soul,

Making fractured self feel whole.

 

©Tom Tide 2017

 

 

 

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