Perambulations

How often do you walk or run?

Bare feet
on the cold floor.

Stepping.

To the kitchen.
The scent of coffee
rising like incense–
almost holy.

The birds
singing outside,
a conversation
through the glass.

I wonder
what they’re saying.

I walk
between the spaces.

Footsteps
soft as raindrops
on yielding ground.

My roots
are deep here,
slow and steady,
as a heartbeat.

No need
to scurry off.

I’m not a field mouse.
Just a dandelion seed,
drifting gently
in the breeze.