A day saunters by at its own pace,
a lazy journey through a calendar year.
Days and nights, the slow inhale and exhale
of the lungs of Father Time - deep breaths
of perfumed aromas of Mother Nature.
Spring, summer, winter, fall Four rhythms,
four drum beats of the day's heart.
The cadence beating rhythm - birth of
life, sustenance of the fruitful harvest,
slowing the rapid growth, burying the waste of day's end.
Yet we. Here in our offices, with day planners, business
meetings, and stimulant and sleeping pill cocktails
violently rush through days as though they were a
commodity quickly dissipating.
We use and abuse the minutes regulated to our
spans. For in birth we take a breath and in
death return that breath, neglecting the pause
that establishes rest and reflection between
the inhale of life and the exhale of death.