my grandmother said,
again and again,
deep in her 90s when she
may have had a lot of wishes
about what might have been
or what had been but
could no longer be
or, more likely, she
just didn’t remember
she had said it a minute ago.
Whatever reason, it was
on her mind as it is now on mine
as friends and family grumble
about what they want,
what they had planned,
and champ at the bit to be anywhere
other than where they are.
For years we galloped at a mad pace,
rituals reduced to a drive-through
swallow of wine and roll on Friday night.
I, for one, am grateful nature
is no longer hidden in the frenzy.
I walk along the same few paths,
again and again.
I see revealed a miracle of mushrooms
and hear the voice of beggar Earth.
She is resisting our longing
to wish everything into horses.
She is reminding us
already we ride.