As I was walking one morning

Under the oaks

The acorns, knowing their time,

Were falling to the ground around me.

I breathed in and out

Deliberately, slowly

To hear with a conscious ear

The life that rises and falls with each step.

The early light was not yet full of sun.

It was the turning of the tides; moon

Pulling night towards it; the shore not

Yet glistening.

Still, as I walked, the acorns kept falling,

For it was the season.

Warwick McFadyen