Rest

I walked home through a park I’d never seen

to try and shake the feeling that the path

of least resistance was to vanish. Keen

to lose a moment in the green and grass

I trod through twisting trails, tailing bees,

inclined to speak aloud how lovely it

can be to miss the forest for the trees.

I came across a garden, navel split

with wild-flowers like an open wound.

I listened as she said “I’m ninety-three,

replaced my veg with honeysuckle, blooms,

and clover, kinder on my aging knees.”

Alive with butterflies, sun setting west -

A testament to knowing when to rest.