It has been a long time since I last wrote.
It was a winter of my fiftieth birthday.
It is summer now.
Outside my windows night cradles round-faced moon into a bed of stars.
No breath of wind to upset the delicate operation.
As in attendance – air stands still and warm.
And if I am now to think about all that has come to pass in those last few months – it seems every new season brought some changes to my life.
Perhaps it all started with that shy, early autumn when I wrote ‘Visitor’
Winter arrived and lingered for quite some time – bleak and colourless. There were days when wind was merciless. There were days when breathing was too.
In the midst of it all, and quite unexpectedly – I was offered a new job. One I never really thought about. Initially I was unsure what to do. Not that I was sure of much at the time.
And then, as often is the case – we are nudged towards the road we need to take, even if, or especially when we cannot see it ourselves.
From the distance of almost six months – I understand that it was the right, almost necessary step to take.
The new job brought new challenges and new responsibilities – all of which ensured that, by the end of each day, neither desire nor energy were left for another thought let alone reflection.
I sometimes wondered whether I would ever write for pleasure again.
Instead of quiet contemplation and writing – I was challenged to learn on the go and come up with solutions on demand. And through it all I realized that solving problems and caring for others is still what I love doing and, so they tell me – am good at it. Which is to say – I work hard and care genuinely, all of which comes naturally once we are engaged with purpose and meaning.
As winter neared its end and spring reluctantly knocked on the door – I moved the house too.
The ‘Writer’s Den’ which was nestled amongst trees and shrubs gave way to a ‘Room with a Balcony’ – no more than ten minutes’ walk to downtown and my office, or twenty minutes to the closest beach.
Once I moved in – I remembered the little piece I titled ‘A Wish List’ and wrote some three years ago, for one of the wishes was ‘to own the room with a balcony’ … and this is what I now
see from my balcony.
Someday I watch boats sailing in and out of the harbour and hear
Cries of seagulls before the day-break.
As sun fills the ‘Room with a Balcony’ every morning and lingers over it in in evenings, I read Daniel Klain for he ponders such wisdom as: ‘Every Time I found the Meaning of Life They Change It’, Clive James as he wrote; ‘Cultural Amnesia’ and Anna Akhmatove for she wrote
‘I Taught Myself To Live Simply:
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses about life’s decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.