Take My Hand, Walk with Me

An old paved road, follows along the stonewall,
an earthen trail we'll walk along,
beneath the autumn's leaves that gently fall.

Quiet waters seen beside us, calmly drifting,
passing an old tennis court, a lost ball, I toss to you,
such a memory, uplifting.

A flat old rock, cracks, now almost crumbling,
laid out like a tiny bridge, over a stream,
I leap over, laughter, stumbling.

The scent of sweet maple and pine,
sun rays play within,
entwining in these memories of mine.

Roots from the trees at the surface of the land,
twisting a display to skip along over,
please, take my hand.

Coming to a clearing near the water, where pebbles were once tossed,
I sit upon the large rock, small splashes, looking in, tiny minnows,
remembered so well, where I'd go to find myself, when my heart was lost.

Continuing on up a lost trail covered in leaves, branches cascading,
if you did not follow me, you may not see,
in this memory, never fading.

More stones, placed as if an intended retreat,
no walls, no doors, windows always open,
where the soul and earth could quietly converse, and the sky the heart could meet.

A hand extends, walk with me through my memory.
I hear waters splashing up ahead, where the river rushes in,
a place where I use to fish, hold my hand and sit awhile with me.