My body is no longer strong enough
for the Sierra Nevada trails,
but my mind is. In memory
I still see the rushing snow-melt water
rinse the boulders on the North Yuba River.
The scent of the breeze through tall pines,
a lizard crossing the trail
and pausing to look at me,
a hawk circling slowly, hunting.
The sound of my footsteps as I walk alone.
One night past full, the moon rises
Over the tree to my east. A lot of pine,
some oaks, four sycamores standing
in a row like soldiers on guard duty.
In walking meditation, I move slowly
through the trees and out into the open.
Step by step, breath by breath -
moonlight on my face, and finally
looking up, in my eyes.
The Corn Moon, September.