Practica at walking alone

My life is always changed by the tango walk,

A dance with only me on a country road. 

I walk in harmony with music heard within.

Great mysteries are revealed as I walk outside. 

My mind thinks in the language of haiku. 

The lightning-struck tree points to the sky 

With seared center finger, it’s last gesture. 

The upset swallow twitters with no Internet.

A group of deer like voyeurs stares at me. 

I smell the water of a lake far away. 

The walk answers life's mysteries well. . . 

. . . until I walk again.





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