Though the scent of wet pine needles is afloat
and the falls just out of sight thrum the air with soothing rhythms
and the birds morning song catches and rides above the thrum,
my mind drifts snagged up inwardly and snarls in the matted roots of mind that feed off the weighty contractions of heart.
I am distracted from beauty.
Distracted from now.
A car door slams and I am compelled to move on.0