The trees are making early leavings.  Yellow shiny, brown crinkled, green gone leaves litter the path.  The limbs do not shudder at this event.  Nor do they complain, yell, cry or get anxious about it.  Wise beings.

Inside me is the frantic racket of human slamming back and forth: You’re late.  You’re behind.  You’ve been procrastinating and now the tasks are piling up.  You’re lazy and never finish any ideas.  You’re useless.  You can’t stay in the moment because there is too much to do!

No time for stillness but don’t want to do anything.

I now release, drop, flush, puke, destroy, delete, dump, relieve, wash off, take off, refuse to put on, now ignore, refuse to see, declare GONE this argument and your pain.

I do not want it and it is not mine to wear around like a penance-vest.  I have no pain–only rides, slides, ladders, shutes, drops, hills, rocks, steps, waterfalls, meadows, cliffs, walls and the path always of mine to be mine to be.  To bump and grind and dance and swing and cry and toss, and bless and curse and laugh and spit.

So it is.  All that is.  I am that I am.