Finding the Core

'Where would you come back to?' he asks. 'And would you come back as yourself ... perhaps you'd return as a bird?' When I ask this of my inner stillness, dropping into deep knowing, my outer mind is faintly surprised. I don't choose the Tweed Valley, where I have spent the happiest years of my life – where natural beauty and easy friendships nurture me daily, and where I shall most likely end. No, I would go back to the place of cold rain, of slippery frosts and insularity – yet where my earliest friendships were born, and its own particular beauty sustained me. Yes, that island. 

That island, yes; of dark mountains and cold streams. Above all I would go back to Richmond Bridge – strangely, as it was not a frequent haunt. But my Dad loved it, and I loved it too through his eyes and my own. That was before I became disillusioned in him. We would pass it on family trips from Launceston to Hobart and back – from one end of the island to the other, so we didn't do it often. (There were not the fast highways then.) We loved its simple arches, its ancient stone, the slight rise in the centre coming to a point. We loved its perfect shape, a lily needing no gilding. (The bridge at Ross is beautiful too, but more ornate.) I would be a bird, I think, perching on that bridge, making a nest nearby. A magpie, able to stand up for itself and its young: killer of snakes, aggressive guard against intruders, feeder of the helpless. A magpie warbling its most beautiful song to wake the morning, and later farewelling the day as dusk descends.

'Who are you?' she asks. 

I am a bird on a bridge 

in a small island.

This photo, by Gabriella of the dVerse team, provided the original inspiration for this piece, reminding me of Richmond Bridge which I refer to. 

Linked to Haibun Monday #6 and to Poetics: Coming Back, both at dVerse, as well as to Poets United's Midweek Motif: Identity. [The concluding verse is perhaps more senryu than haiku. I hope it qualifies.]