Wet Socks

 

Wet Socks

By John W. Vander Velden    

 

My socks wet…shoes soaked through, from a morning walk.

Unplanned.

Quickly decided.

Destination unknown.

Time frame flexible.   

Awakened by robin’s proclamation and cardinal’s invitation, I venture boldly before sun escapes its night’s prison, drawn a field, by lark’s call and blackbird’s flaming wings.  Air calm, sky crystalline, the day virgin, my eyes sweep rolling meadow of thin tall grass dotted with white heads of Queen Ann’s.

Few accept the morning’s gift. 

Others might feel time spent beneath the covers better served.  A brown hare spooked by my footsteps dashes away out of sight. I tread slowly, a smile on my lips, sensing the life all around…feeling very alive.  The new day’s sun ignite sparkling diamonds, the blades more jewelry than plant. 

Wet socks such a small price to pay…as I walk among fresh dew’s glory. 

 

 (137 Words)