Pollyanna Would Be Proud.
Walking at snail's pace, as I do,
gives one a new perspective;
it has made me even more observant,
giving me time to stop and stare.
I see what the scurrying masses miss
as they go about their business:
the eternal fight for survival,
nature overcoming all.
Wobbling my way past the churchyard,
delicate daisies smile at me;
a golden profusion of dandelions
glows in the light of a warm spring sun.
Wild flowers force themselves
through hard dry city dirt
while tiny mosses on old stone walls
struggle against the odds.
Cherry trees have lined the road
with pink confetti, so pretty,
while others flutter their fresh green leaves
to greet me as I pass.
Signs of rebirth, though tiny,
speak of the will to survive.
I identify with these little things.
Pollyanna would be proud.
© 2003