Walking on Nosehill

SOMETIMES

When I walk Molly

On the Nosehill

I find myself wondering—

How does the grass think

About the meaning of life?

Winter comes and goes,

They come and go,

Some even unnoticed.

Yet still,

They bloom and die

Without hesitation.

Do they wonder if they’ve left something

For the world?

Maybe.

But they don’t seem to care.

SOMETIMES

When I walk with my wife,

We can see the Rockies—not far away.

Actually, they are far away.

Do they care what we are doing?

I don’t think so.

They just stand there silently,

No matter how human beings ruin the world.

Why should they care?

They just stand there—

Enjoying their snow,

Their rain,

Their stillness.

SOMETIMES

When I walk on Nosehill by myself,

I start to miss my friends who passed away.

I imagine they’ve become a waterlet in the clouds,

Or a shining leaf among the grass.

They’re just there—

And they don’t say a word.

I can see the sun.

I can see the sky.

I live my way, and try to be honest,

To have integrity,

To love, and be loved.

I WALK BY MYSELF

Silently.

I hear the highway in the distance—

But I don’t care.

Or should I?