these are the wonders of being a stay-at-home papa.
The greenway stretches as far as the eyes can see.
A jogger passes, shrinks, and eventually disappears.
Bark mulch insinuate themselves between flip flops
and toes and soles. The familiar road nearby swooshes,
but the oaks, pines, and willows enclose a lulling world.
Ahead, the three children, the oldest only ten, hop
hand in hand. This is not a strange path, but where
does the opening clear, which bushes hide it from a mind
that wanders? How long does it take, what discipline
is needed, not to be lost, to become a master orienteer?
mar. 2, 2013
(i wrote this two years ago.)
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