I bob along on a stream of days
which blend and blur and
disappear
into the past.
Days without shape.
My normally tight grasp
on the calendar
slips,
and I am prone to moments
of disorientation,
wondering
‘Should I be working today?’
‘Am I supposed to be in a meeting right now?’
‘What exactly did I do last weekend?’
The future is full of haze and mirage,
the horizon obscured by fog.
More than ever,
the only thing that seems real
is this one
peaceful
ever present
moment.
At the end of the garden
sipping beer,
the bench in early evening sun
still warm.
I read a new book,
Chinese mountain poetry,
a subject about which
I know little.
Centuries apart,
it seems we write
about the same things.
Then a sparrow chirps
in the hedge,
pulls me fully
into the present moment.
Always, and only,
this moment.
Cormorants fish
in the softness
of morning.
Unusually, I went for a stroll before work and was rewarded by this view and this poem.
A blessing and a curse
this vivid imagination
conjuring up so many pleasant daydream worlds,
and paintings, stories, poems, music.
Allowing me to put myself in another’s shoes,
to empathise.
Enabling me to imagine the worse possible catastrophic outcome
for any situation I find myself in.
My body doesn’t know
that the stories in my head are not real,
and responds with pleasure, excitement, fear, dread, anxiety,
feeling it all, deeply.
And it takes a strong rational act of will to calm down,
to find a way back into the here and now.
Leaving the world of the imagination is not easy.
A blessing, and a curse.
Life in the Fresh Air 