Sunday, 8 April 2012

Edge of the Bridge (Day 8)

Perhaps if I didn’t move

At the edge of the meadows

And watch the trees in the nearby forest

Choking the blue horizons.

I wouldn’t remember

Her smiling bedside manner

Or total unpredictive

If she rose before me. 

I wouldn’t remember

Her skip down the small footpaths

Before the river

And her hand-stands

Across the bridge

That led to Jackson’s boat,

 Or interest in flowers

Where she would pull a weed

Out of the grass

And place it in my hair

Before running off. 

I wouldn’t remember

Her constant interest

In ghost stories

When we walked in dark forests 

Or her constant questions

About the horses

In the nearby meadows

When she would try to egg

Me to jump onto one of them. 

I wouldn’t remember

The way she would constanty

Get ice cream in her hair

Almost by magic

 Or that last time

When Pete’s dog cocked it’s leg up

Almost like it was saying

You were a total waste of space.

 I didn’t realise that

Until it was too late of course.  

(Day 8 off asked us to' Go outside. That’s about it. Take a walk, on this lovely Sunday. Or a drive. (Or if it’s not lovely where you are at all, maybe just remember your last good walk or drive). Take along a notebook if you can. Take notes. Maybe take a picture or two. And then sit down in a park or in your yard or on the corner, and write.'... This cheerful piece came from that) 


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