There they were,
lost words, sprinkled on tar & cement.
words lost, from my world,
the 'lost' unknown to me, at the time.
I'd been walking with vigour, the gritty wind in my eyes, loud music in my ears,
my raincoat ready for the rain, which
only lightly fell.
50 minutes earlier...
I'd packed my journal in my bag, (thought that I had) zipped up the pocket,
stuck plasters on my toes as armor from my too-new shoes,
hid the house key
and trickled down the tree house path past the pongas & friends
down the rickety wobbly steppe which I try to consistently (but fruitlessly) avoid,
tumble round the drive so steep I wish a wind gust would come up and I'd be
blowin' in it
past the black circular washer or something that's been on the pavement since I moved in..(I look forward to seeing if it's still there, and as always, it is - and seemed to have not moved one iota...I have a loose plan to pick it up and stitch it to something...)
Up the hill I went, like a hand was pushing me, past the lush green forest which I love so dearly,
the land which is, and always has been home, to me
even though it took me years to see it.
my soul breathes...
and in my backpack, I carried words written in the hills,
within the landscapes of my mind,
the loves, worries, complexities, joys and storms which,
in black staedtler ink,
stain the pages like a swirly tattooed alphabet
a language only known to me.
Upon arriving at the studio, I went to fish out my precious journal -which I had used to keep a receipt flat to send off that afternoon with my most recent Etsy sale.
But all I found,
was an open zip,
a bit of lint,
and inner alarm.
next thing I know we are on the road, backcombing the walk with our beady eyes out the car window,
fixed on the pavement, looking for that old black book that
if someone found and read,
would have me either a published success or a candidate for the nearest asylum.***
and with a blink of the eye,
there it was - I saw it, collapsed in a gutter, on the corner of a street,
where I remember having leaped on to the curb off the road, in a moment
of condensed energy.
the journal I have in my hands,
the sale has been shipped,
all is good in the world.
all is good,
in the world...
***It's true, if you write, they'll either praise you or condemn you.