There are landscapes I have trodden. I keep them with me: a variety box of colours, continents, wonders carried home. I have mountains, rivers, oceans, dust deserts, rolled tight so as to travel well without crumpling.
On grey dark days I unlid my close-shut eyes and visit them, feel for them, and in those memories all is bright. They leave me breathless, beauty-struck and earth glad.
I look back and find myself there, fierce, bold, sun spark beautiful, super-heroed by the scenery. I wonder at myself, if that was me, but trust tomorrow just a bit better because I’ll be meeting it hand in hand with her, that she.
I own my footfall in those places. I know myself part of the picture, for surely I walked and walked and onwards wandered. I chose all that, picked out that me. I have taken steps, but still I know myself blessed, gifted, prayer plea pressed.
I have found my way to paths my fathers’ mothers could not walk and there is heartfelt humility in that remembering. It is good to linger longer looking back and think of all I never saw, every ever I never had to know because of them.
I tip a nod to the shadows for all they paced me, hope they saw those sights with me and smiled to see me leap. I would I could give at least that little back. Life lives well in a thank you.
And now when my dreams are doubt, my littleness is less lonely because I know myself flanked by so many shades. There are no new stories and there is a certain solidarity in that. I’m thankful to be something nothing wonderful. For me it is more, much more than enough.
And here it rains, and I wait. Ever impatient, asking often, listening all too little for the sound of silences that rattle me down.
In the darkness there’s beauty so I’ll close my eyes and sit for it. I feel for the pause before the story starts again, the breath that curls the tongue up to roll on round the words I don’t need to know. The skies open inside and I see all, myself, so clearly.