Mystery of Time

When childhood would allow the freedom of time

rainy days and shadowed storms,

the sort that didn’t leave our home,

always to remain nearby to remind us,

we are only a temporary memory here,

one to reflect on in the evening,

give us instruction weeks later,

toward resolution,

that walkaway knowledge to build upon the remainder

of a year,

only perhaps now that same moment, an education in time,

gives us a jarring picture of how we were then til now,

who might that person be,

years ago could lose themselves in the wood,

the forest was very real back then,

today our shelter seems to be a metaphor,

one we always hope contain freedom.