Being…

Walking a forest ridge in an April snow, flakes falling  powdery and fine, the only tracks on the ground are mine, I lean against a tree and the feeling is free, I feel  the solitude, I breathe the silence, I hear the patter of flakes on my shoulders, out here time seems suspended, the only measure being day and night and the seasons, my human limits are upended, out here it’s not about will, it’s about being still, it’s about not being needed, it’s about …being