Last weekend I had my first thunderstorm in my summer city. Naturally I went out for a walk, because all cities are the quietest when it rains it seems (or at least in this part of the world). The evening was fresh, beautiful, and, as anticipated, quiet. This left me to think and wander at my leisure with no disturbances despite the fact that it wasn’t raining terribly hard. Being a country girl I revelled in the time to myself in a busy place but I also settled into a Saturday night melancholy. This lead to a poem sorting itself out in my head which I titled Slow Small Steps. Now, this is rather rough, and I haven’t done revisions but I thought I’d share!
Slow Small Steps
I set off down a road I hadn’t seen before
until I found a path I’d never walked.
Down the path I wandered
’till I came upon the water,
and thereupon the green, green grass of home.
Here amongst the willows
and the tall strong trees of childhood
I rest my head upon the rain wet roots.
And I wonder at the sky,
which upon my cheeks does cry
is it lonely for the silence
that no one breaks to comfort?
That no one dares to walk to with a smile.
Does it weep for lovers lost
Or simply for the forest?
Again I walk back home
with more questions
and a poem,
but no more answers
than before I left.
But a sense of quiet solace,
with the cloudy sky above us
draws me closer to the earth
as others huddle in their homes,
and a solitary dog huffs as I pass.