I bob along on a stream of days
which blend and blur and
into the past.
Days without shape.
My normally tight grasp
on the calendar
and I am prone to moments
‘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
At the end of the garden
the bench in early evening sun
I read a new book,
Chinese mountain poetry,
a subject about which
I know little.
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,
in the softness
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,
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.