Each day, we’re granted some reprieve,
When, yapping brash, you beg to leave.
We go. You’re always out in front.
You track what’s left behind: a hunt
For spots you only know are right.
Your ears, attentive to the night,
Will flicker toward some distant sound.
In tow, I’m lost in what’s around
Me: creation exuding signs,
Of what’s beneath her hooked confines.
My headphones loud, I sing of choice,
Along with some anointed voice.
We walk at the same time each day,
Yet, all are blessed, fresh in a way.
No matter mood, or atmosphere,
We’re most ourselves, above all fear.
In spring, when breezes mild can make
One’s being drift away in wake,
Or cold, allowing bones to feel
The piercing brace of winter’s zeal,
Our strolls have forged my soul anew.
I’m thankful for this time with you.
– Bernard Jacobson
I am a 24-year old living just outside of New York. I majored in English and Philosophy at Villanova University. I read, write, and listen to music to keep that part of me alive. Thank you so much for your consideration.
Nature in the Now 