Braking, I stop.

©2013 Louise Gallagher

In the hurtle
of life
roaring down the tracks
of time spent
clicking off the dates
pasted on a wall
I painted
just last year
I wonder
I wonder
(with a harried glance
at the years flying by)
where have all the flowers
gone
I never stopped to pick?

Time was
held fast
within the hypnotic glare
of the view
outside
my window
fogging up
fogging up
by the times
they are a changin’
in the glare
of time
passing by

Braking
sparks fly
and I crash
into time
calling me
calling me
to stop
and enjoy
the wildflowers
dancing in the fields
of beauty
all around.

Braking
I stop
and the world
stops with me.