No roads to travel

 

This moving forwards is for the birds. 
  
I woke this morning 
to a heart rebellion. 
Against the incessant 
need to move on. 
  
Clear seeing that there are no 
straight lines into a future. 
  
Even looking back, 
memories are diverted, 
  
unseeing. 
  
I want to be more 
like a tree. 
Stay put. 
The earth and us one. 
  
We can have a commanding 
position of sea and sky, 
you close enough to whisper to 
and, at night, spot distant stars. 
  
Like this,
there are no contours 
to follow then. 
No ships to sail. 
No roads to travel. 
  
Only a presence of being here, 
where there can be a rooting, 
a flowering – that made me laugh – 
and travellers can sit 
under our shade as they zig zag, 
looking for answers. 
  
Until they discover new questions
yet to be asked. 
  
In the stillness, 
sitting amongst 
the roots, fallen leaves, 
some kind of awakening.

Red robins singing 
on winter branches, 
the sun hanging 
low, colouring 
the sea blood red. 

© 2021 Copyright Rick Frame


2 thoughts on “No roads to travel

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