Or, as when one prepares an onion, slicing the ends so that it peels more easily, then cutting up the layers for cooking.
Or a typical Sunday jaunt, to see the local waterfalls for example, and the cars that approach in the opposite lane, one after another, expressionless faces. There, beside the road, a parked car and a man reaching into the rear seat perhaps consoling a child or rearranging things. Eight miles to go.
Almost all the time I consider the next step but you anticipate me, so I like the poems. I am almost lost and closely found, which I recognize and appreciate. A small dog emerges and circles its owner then retreats behind the house, which includes a garden on the sidewalk meridian, tomatoes and flowers.