Song to Self

Thoreau went to the woods to live deliberately
I go to work with foggy intention

My little girl runs with a pitter-patter
her right arm locked in a bend, left arm swinging

imagination changed its focal point in the last ten years
Three children, a degree, promotions, demotions, additional jobs
A war, recession, divorces all around

yet the breeze still blows on me
fluttering sound in the wind not yet
dead and fallen
a sound of life in the air and substance

Life doesn’t just press on
it shines on
I just need to know
how to look