Only If

Only if
you peer into the creek, still and quiet,
might eye and brain in a flash discover
a small turtle in your palm.
You both blink, surprised.

Only if
a toddler's chubby hand bumbles persistently
for the black ant in the grass, dropping it
over and over,
finding it again,
does the ant finally realize its mortality
the moment the toddler discovers its mighty bite.

Only if
I scan the sky, against cirrus and azure,
can I begin to distinguish wingspan of
eagle, buzzard, hawk, heron.
There's a world up there.

Only if
one sits on a tree stump, alone,
no earbuds,
that in five minutes time one may hear
the unmistakable slither at one's feet.
One was not alone.

Only if
he must conquer creek
will he find a stick to measure depth.
Cautiously first, then charging on.
Creek is known, joy found.
He's a Navy Seal now.

Only if we step to edge of pond,
clear on top, muddy bottom,
there's nothing here- then we toss the pebble
and a thousand fat tadpoles emerge.

But only if.