I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

13 May 2016

I Walk Too Far, and Not Far Enough

I walk on my feet, and in my imagination. If I don't walk further on my feet, my muscles will melt. I read that somewhere and it frightened me. If I walk too far into my childhood, that could be frightening too. Or sad. And sad it would be if my muscles did melt – like my mother's did, and my husband's, and they kept having falls. Each of them, finally, was taken to hospital after a fall and never came home again.

I walk the streets of our little town: behind the shopping mall, skirting the park. I don't power walk, I linger, photographing quaint old buildings and majestic trees. But I cover the ground. It is late in the day, but I must resume daily walking. It has lapsed too long. 

At home, at my desk, I walk into the past: up and down the big back lawn after my Nana died; and again, after the birth of my little brother. Alone with my thoughts, I walk past the summerhouse and into the veggie garden, sit down on the wooden plank that swings on ropes underneath the weeping willow, and bend my head far back. My long hair trails, brushing the ground, as do the translucent willow fronds. 

childhood memory
green willow tendrils in Spring
tiny leaves still curled















Written for Haibun Monday #13 — Walking, at dVerse

6 comments:

  1. I have a willow swing memory as well. How vivid!

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  2. I especially love the walk into the memories... Yes those sepia walks are lovely.

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  3. Just the title is wonderful wisdom and that last paragraph tugs at the heart. Imagination as a walk...yes

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  4. Oh Rosemary, how I resonate with these lines....the needing to walk outdoors, the taking photos, the walking back along trails of memory, especially our grandmother's gardens, and the weeping willow, which figures so prominently in my memory of those days. The town I live in here is much like that childhood town, hills and lakes and rivers and weeping willow.........sigh. I loved reading every word and line of this beautiful poem.

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  5. We need to keep on walking or else our muscles will become frail ~ Love the scene at the veggie garden with the willow tree ~ Happy weekend ~

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