Sunday Morning

In the midst of running
through leaves on a dry path
sunlight and shadow dapple
roots and rocks
ground dips and water rises
mud swells and beckons
well worn tracks from
others come and gone before.
You can hear the swish and whirl
of fallen leaves underfoot and
you are talking about ideas,
their elusive nature, there is
nothing new under the sun
except as it pertains to you.
Discovery is a door opening
that you never knew
was closed, an epiphany
you never waited for
nor understood was coming.
La silence sera profond la,
something I had written years ago,
and Shakuntala moves.