Walking
It is
supposed to rain all week but I am not afraid of the rain.
supposed to rain all week but I am not afraid of the rain.
So out I
went with the dogs, hood up, then done.
A shake to unblock my hearing.
went with the dogs, hood up, then done.
A shake to unblock my hearing.
Down to the
quay of the Rhone ribboning metallic gray.
quay of the Rhone ribboning metallic gray.
The cold
not cold and my eyes on the stretching emptiness.
not cold and my eyes on the stretching emptiness.
Set to
open.
open.
Far ahead,
a lone figure was walking slowly, so slowly that he caught my attention.
a lone figure was walking slowly, so slowly that he caught my attention.
Maybe it
was the cut of his coat that made me think of the past
was the cut of his coat that made me think of the past
Or that his
nonchalance told me he had nowhere to go
But rather was
enjoying the space wrapped around him soft like a scarf.
nonchalance told me he had nowhere to go
But rather was
enjoying the space wrapped around him soft like a scarf.
I wondered
if that was what it was like 200 years ago to be a gentleman.
if that was what it was like 200 years ago to be a gentleman.
Just one pointed foot then the next.
Today he
would have to be a dancer
would have to be a dancer
Or a
magician.
magician.
My dogs
rustled as I neared him.
rustled as I neared him.
He casually
extended his palm upwards as if he had only then realized that it was raining.
It fell
back to his side.
extended his palm upwards as if he had only then realized that it was raining.
It fell
back to his side.
He would be
walking regardless.
walking regardless.
We pulled
in front of him in a rush.
in front of him in a rush.
We are all
in a rush.
in a rush.
But on our
return, we met face to face, this thin man tall.
return, we met face to face, this thin man tall.
He
whispered « Bonjour » with an infinitesimal nod, I responded
whispered « Bonjour » with an infinitesimal nod, I responded
And then
was his past.
was his past.
His skin
was of a color I couldn’t quite identify with a touch too of yellow to be cafe
au lait.
Were his eyes smoke ?
was of a color I couldn’t quite identify with a touch too of yellow to be cafe
au lait.
Were his eyes smoke ?
The word
« Persian » came to mind, faded.
« Persian » came to mind, faded.
The dogs
were eager to get home.
were eager to get home.
And as I
neared my front door, I wondered if I had even seen him, this shadow of another
click of the clock ?
neared my front door, I wondered if I had even seen him, this shadow of another
click of the clock ?
In the
midst, the mist with fingers on my face, I knew I could never really know.
midst, the mist with fingers on my face, I knew I could never really know.
“Tell us about the thing you most want to do, reality or fantasy, that you have never done…money is no object.” This was Marsha’s directive for this month’s theme in the By Invitation Only series. Now, I know, you might be shaking your head wondering, “And how did she get here exactly?”
While I am incredibly grateful for all of the extraordinary adventures I have experienced so far, I also feel confidence welling in my heart when I remember that at times the “perfect” moment is right where you are. With that thought, I had prepared something else entirely, which I will share with you soon. It is happy and very French.
And yet, after returning from my walk this morning, I sat down and wrote this poem. It felt appropriate too, that unreachable, mysterious beauty in the everyday. So I headed back out with my trusty little camera to try and capture a bit of that moment. It was like chasing after balloons.
And just so you know, the man out of time was nowhere to be seen…
To discover what I am sure will be a truly fascinating range of responses from the others in this international group, please click here.
Music:
I also want to thank all of you so much for your wonderful responses to the news of my Mom’s engagement. As she herself correctly noted:
“Heather’s readers are the most articulate and charming clan ever !”
Something you be a professor of…dear Virginia!
Merci, Patou!
Merci, Jackie. Oooh but being able to fly? I think you got me on that one!!!
Bisous!
H
Welcome, friend. I can just picture you and Karina in Thoreau's woods…
xo
Merci, Loree. Have I just been missing your posts–haven't seen as much from you lately. Must go investigate…
Eh, attention all Tabby Cats, looking "out" and "down" are not the same thing! Now, pssht, pssht, scram!
You and I are both dreamers, Vicki–but doers too hopefully!
Merci, Sharon. Fine praise coming from multi-talented you.
Thank you, Tabitha. I can assure you there is not a soul around–literally! It was raining even harder this morning and I was the only one out!
Thank you, dear D. Initially this was going to be for Daily Plate of Crazy but then when I wrote it as a poem…there was no WAY I was going to submit a poem to you!!! 😉