Wood Lily Hunt

On Saturday afternoon my sister leads the way. My cousin is hard on her heels. I am the youngest one; it has always been hard to keep up. They walk so fast, having only one thing on their minds: Finding a wood lily,
carrying it home for my sister to paint.

I am a wanderer, 
and I don't want to hurry past.
I want to linger on what
is between here and there.
I am slow to arrive,
but perhaps I bring home more.

Extra: My sister pointing out the freshness of the wood lily.