Trail running with John

By Kim Walters

Following the late July downpour,
the trail is slick,
mud and fallen leaves.
Suspended moisture,
placid, paused.

My son speeds past me
with the confidence of eight years,
knowing without thinking
as sure as sun follows rain
that he is moving unstoppably forward.

I, aware of my responsibilities,
find foothold with slow caution,
avoiding roots and rocks
that threaten to trip, to injure, to delay,
as the distance between us lengthens.

He is hot and pauses to tell me.
He waits for me,
marveling at mushrooms,
the surprised fluttering of grouse.

“Shake a tree and it will rain on you”,
I tell him, and together we delight
in cool, heavy drops of splendid relief
on this inimitable evening
sweat and earth and my precious boy.