Personal Essays

Fretting

Ripples in a pond fretting amid damp earth’s fragrance whose deep-anchored tendrils curl around and around and up and up to caress and nurture.
Focused on the footpath. Rigid muscles and throbbing temples. Panting.
Impeding scales fall away as sunlight breaks through a misty veil of sweat.

Pause.

Beyond the trees a beckoning forest and a horizon, and mountains soften into hills.
Renewal.
Gaining the horizon. Footpath sweeps along.

 

 

 

6 thoughts on “Fretting”

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