Half stride, I stop, toes gripping into the dirt
small stones moving beneath, a stick scratching against my ankle
The sun warms my arms
An insect jumps across a leaf
a shadow cuts across my wrist
I hear children playing and shouting somewhere far off
a man calling for someone
I am neither here nor there
hands loose at my sides
my chest rising and falling in the ordinary rhythm of moving
The middle, a strange grace
a hand lifts and hangs
a foot hovers before the next step
I feel the ground, the air, the pull of the path ahead
Everything seems held between moments
between leaving and arriving
a song in progress that has no end yet
I step again
Pebbles scrape under my foot
The wind presses against my back
the heat drifts off the stones
The motion carries me forward
and still the pause holds on
stretching with me
singing quietly
without finishing
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
Keep reading
More stories from Tim Carmichael and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (3)
Fabulous writing Tim! ☺️
This is such a lovely reflection on the grace of the in-between.
What a beautiful way to describe that momentary pause as you take a step forward and experience the world around you.