by Mary Walsh

 

When I was young, I looked

for the brow of the hill.

With light footsteps,

I made my way to the top

but as I reached the summit,

I found another hill beyond, another brow

beckoning me and leading me on.

“Don’t look back,” it warned,

“lest you be turned to salt.”

And so I ran or skipped or danced

or trudged towards the brow of the hill,

and the next and the next,

never asking “Where?”

Never explaining “What happened was”

Never planning,

Never regretting? That part is untrue,

I did regret but started anew

with each hill I climbed,

each peak I reached,

I felt the earth beneath my feet,

challenging me to the next and the next,

reinventing and renewing,

a chance to change,

a different view,

a chance to renew,

A new beginning.

 

Copyright Mary Walsh 2020

 

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