Moments, 1

It is peaceful, where I sit and how I sit there.

Off in a distance are the noises of the unnatural.

Machines, voices, haste.

All these things racing by, as if on speedy errands.

But where do all these machines go?

And why with all this haste?

The image in my mind is of a man standing on a large,

prominent rock on the side of a steep sloping hill

as an avalanche roars past him.

He does not flinch as all that violence screams

past and tries to draw him in.

Nor does he move to leap into the fray.

I sit here with the birds and bugs

and wish not to leap onto the concourse of life.

Not that I don’t want to be involved, but

for a moment I will steal a moment and witness.

These birds and I shall sit and wonder

why men struggle against the natural world so strongly.

They fight as if it would kill them to sit still.

So I will, here and now, make it a point to sit

and do nothing, if for no more than a moment,

until that moment passes.