Saunter to Hope

From trailside where I paused

I watch you pass

intent and boisterous

one after another.

I have always been slow

but slow is not what holds me back

it’s what makes the whole journey.

Not slow, saunter.

A pace for watchers, listeners, contemplatives

enthralled by the wonder of life.

Pace is not the measure of success

and I will not worship at the altar of speed and productivity.

These mountains are holy

this life is sacred

and I will be present

to see and to BE.

Trailside I spot a single green survivor of fire,

celebrating the seedlings birthed at its feet.

Watch open-throated pink flowers bob in the clear, rushing stream

joining them in a drink of refreshment.

A single aspen on the bank waves a greeting

one sacred being to another.

Under charred trees are purple jeweled flowers

the air is full of their sweet aroma in the noonday heat.

How, when all around you is scorched and baking, do you thrive?

I want to sit with the question and listen for the answer.

Peaceful inner wisdom reminds me

Beauty will come of ashes,

New life will grow where all seemed destroyed.

Suddenly I become aware

Hope is here

today and days ahead

I will grow her inside me

be expectant of her arrival.

I will experience joy in this becoming

because I was not so rushed that I missed it.

When others went fast, I sauntered to hope.

-Solo Saunter, August 2, 2020, Three Sisters Wilderness, Oregon