The Simple Word Poetry

I am now 48 years of age. I am more prone to forgetting things these days, such as attempting to brew iced tea, while multi-tasking. The smell of the burning pot reveals that all of the water has evaporated away. I suddenly realize, to my dismay, that my mind... oh hell, I forget.

I ventured away from home today, which is required to escape the blandness of the shore where I live in order to revel in the majesty of the woods. It’s a treat, these days, to find a slice of nature that is nearly undisturbed by the hands of man and modern machinery. I arrive at the nature preserve and find that I have the 1.5-mile trail almost to myself. A welcome gift on a beautifully-warm weekend summer afternoon. My walking stick guides me along the sandy lanes. Pine trees, as far as the eye can see, tuck me comfortably in. I hear movement below a tree, I turn and watch a chipmunk dart behind me across the trail. Hurried footsteps appear and a woman runs by, breathing heavily as her exercise routine spirits her along. I imagine that much is missed at her pace. Nature passes her by without a stolen glance. I purposely slow down my gait to take it all in. It’s a sublime feeling to be alone in the woods, to be one with the trees, the wind, the animals and the birds. In the distance, ...

Another work day concludes. I head out to my newly-purchased, used 2008 Jeep Grand Cherokee and gleefully open both front windows, letting the spring air circulate through past my face. In an instant, a little winged friend, its particular species I am unfortunately ignorant of, flies in through the open passenger window and perches itself on my phone charging wire. After being briefly startled by this unexpected guest I compose myself and welcome this beautiful bird into my car. We exchange glances, seeming to make eye contact more than once. I then utter a hello, "hey there little buddy,"  caring not that it obviously doesn't understand me. "How are you doing today?" I ask. To this it cocks its tiny head to my left. How lucky I am for this moment. This must be a sign. A good sign I'd say. Thoreau would be amused and enthralled by this. I calmly reach out my right hand, attempting to persuade it to perch itself on my finger, but, alas, he thought the better...