Such rush to the top
Only to sit and talk … about what!?
Important things, no doubt.
But to stay at the bottom instead?
To miss the other joys waiting at the top?
To ignore quieter things that sit, anticipating me?
The shush of air moving from branch to bird.
The call of life caught in the joy of existence.
The dash and gobble of water racing on.
The crash of runoff breaking on dashing rocks.
The green and brown of lush and bare.
The taciturn nods that mean we are sharing.
To miss all this?
Why that would be quite another kind of sin.