Taking Turns

My friend goes first,
…………..walks half a dozen steps or more.
……………………….I watch and wait, take my time,
……………………………………enter as she makes the first turn,
……………………….curves back around. Curves are wide.
…………..Turns are tight. The cobble stones,
once burnt red and sky gray,
have aged and weathered
…………..closer to the color of dust.
……………………….Hard to tell apart,
……………………………………I must watch each step, or risk
……………………….veering into her lane.
…………..Head lowered, I study stones,
anticipate her course.
An oddly intimate act,
…………..sharing this planned garden
……………………….of mindful meandering,
……………………………………a convoluted path to center.
……………………….I want to time it so
…………..she has her moment,
unspools when she is ready,
not because I intrude.
…………..Moss like emeralds
……………………….burbles between the stones,
……………………………………light through tree leaves
……………………….marbles the way. Here is a weed,
…………..a tuft of grass. My friend and I
are separate, yet together,
winding and unwinding,
…………..following our course,
……………………….giving each other space,
……………………………………casting shadows, crossing paths.
……………………….A peace, like flute notes
…………..filtering through tall grass,
finds us where we began.