Scoot

Scoot

Morning light slips through the blinds,
and I feel the urge to scoot,
feet light as sparrows on the pavement,
the world a blur of pastel houses.

I push my little scooter,
its wheels humming a steady tune,
the rhythm of my heart matching
the click‑clack on the cobblestones.

Children giggle, dogs bark,
but I scoot on, unbothered,
chasing the scent of fresh bread
from the bakery on the corner.

When the sun dips low,
I scoot back home,
the day’s adventures tucked
in the pocket of my memory.