Back Roads

Walking and talking
Running and sweating
All too tired or distracted to look around
And see the little yellow-bellied birds flitting
Here and there
Among the swaying trees and rustling leaves,
Or notice the deer in the distance
On hyper-alert, more attentive than anyone
Going by, with ears perked and muscles tensed
Ready for instant flight.
Those runners and walkers and exercise freaks
Don’t come to sit in a tree and count 76 leaves
Or lay by the water’s edge and watch tiny ripples go by
Or simply enjoy the relaxing breeze brush by.
They ignore the simple beauty of the woods
And sully my pleasure with reminders,
More noticeable than the soft hush of distant cars,
Of the harsh hustle bustle world outside
My Paradise.