Coming out of the pond, no need to towel off
in this warm afternoon sun.
I'll hike up through the orchard
on Grandpa’s favorite trail.
(He loved to carve paths with his tractor,
his way of reclaiming the forest.)
I slip on my sneakers
and start up the path,
alone with my thoughts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem