A quietude lives a morning drenched in light.
Afternoon passes.
The sky of approaching night deepens the horizon line
showing more clearly the soft lines of the northern hills,
where Muswell Hill is visible through leafless trees.
I feel I live a miracle living among the trees on Shepherds Hill.
Every day a change of picture .
Skies white, blue, clouds passing through.
Seasons painting colours, grey, mid tones, beyond delight.
As I stare, gaze, drink the pictures here.
I think of those who live a deficit.
Who don’t see sky, don’t know the moon.
Who walk through the turning days unaware.
This miracle of living where earth talks to you.
Where one feels part of seasons turning.
Brings belonging.
Carries the days singing through one’s veins.
Pumps the heart sounding of earth’s song.
Flows you anywhere you go -
On the tube down the northern line,
to Piccadilly, Trafalgar, Leicester Square.
There the song flows you amongst the concrete.
Flows you through the hustle and bustle.
Holds you wherever you go.
The Song Carries You
2005 ©