In The Wind

Slow down.
Slow down.
Slow down!
Motherly calls echo
down a narrow path
in an open room.
I look up to see
a little darling passing
my chair, huffing air in
what can only be
cups, not gallons.
She speeds out of view,
around the bend.
All her life, someone will
be calling for her
to slow down.
Today, sitting idle
in a chair with a book in my hand
and a newfound smile,
I silently call
for her
to stay the course—
to burn through
energy she may never recapture—
and damn the scenery
she won’t remember anyway.

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