These are the days of awe —
time of inventory
and a new beginning
when harvest of what we sowed
comes in.
(What have we sown
of discord &
terror?
Hiking the bike path
a blast and a whistle above
boys firing rockets in the air
aspiring rocket scientists
little Hindenburgs.
Children noticed water pulling back,
past where parents let them wade. As if
the Spirit had filled his cheeks by sucking
in,
exposing rocks on shore, boats their
fathers
used to fish in early morning hours. They
saw
for that moment they could walk to earth’s
edge.
We are all the others.
Each of us.
All we are or attain in life
is also due to all the others.
Everybody—alone—is nobody.