An habitual saviour that never speaks
The garden path
Rapid pace when
Meander when depressed
Intersecting with friends, words, events
A moment of noticing, lifting out of the me and into the world.
There are moments when
I don’t trust my brain
Internal conversations too intense
Conflate, spiral, hide truths and realities
Find fear and fault
Until I move my feet
Coolness in shadows
My brain, inside my brain
In side, front, mid, right, not right brain
A thin off-the-page pencil stroke, to notice
Insects breezing past
Wings above me a temporary sky
Rose petals beds
Truths that I can trust
Suspended wheels in front of me
A rhythm of seeking
Pieces of mind
Depression prefers an indoor environment
Electricity in my nerves
Stones in my speech
I walk. Habit.
Nature bathing my ills
These gardens paths until I am aware of;
The frivolous presentation of green.
Green, olive, grey, brilliant, Australian greens
Wattle, whites, burnt walnuts dusty with pink
Taking the bad
I walk. I hear
A smile so wide it’s all teeth careens towards me
No thought to decorum.
Fit of clothing
Ducks fawned on, eels be squealed at
Birds in groups, pigeon, seagull, ducks,
those little black ones with the red beaks,
long legs, glistening feathers, poking, defiance, power plays
groupings to be run through
in the time honoured task of ‘getting them’
Pursued by millions of children
Worldwide and here on this day
of the important endeavour of play
I walk. I see
Offering path ways of its own.
Highways, laneways, junctions, splits and diversions
Formed from decay
The minor of the species,
Not the kernel holding the future,
Not the trunk holding the present, dispensable.
In this experience
I walk. I feel
The gift of space
I am tethered.