Flying

FLYING Before I ever thought of age I dreamed of running through the woods And lifting my feet from the ground and flying. Only a few inches up, not over trees. But yard after yard, gliding into Spring And never falling. College came, soon in the Fall. It was the time. I was of age. Still I would look to the Spring For trips back to my youth filled woods And climbing mountains full of trees I would again dream of flying. A wife and children, how time flies Year after year from Springs to Falls. I taught the kids about the trees Still young enough and at the age When mystery still lived in woods And life was always almost Spring. We bought a cabin near a spring I taught the kids to fish with flies The sun sneaked through soft pine woods And lit up everything where it fell. Oh, those were the days, that was the age When all we needed for friends were trees. I gaze out through the glass .High over trees. Ten stories up above an outdoor’s Spring. Jobs are hard in this new age. But still I dream of flying. I will retire in the Fall To mountains and familiar woods. They are all gone. I’m in the woods Surrounded by familiar trees. The cabin sulks in shades of Fall Afraid there may not be a Spring. Or dreams of flying At my age. The woods will still be there in Spring. The trees will bloom. The new birds fly. And someone else will look to Fall and flying through the ages.