A comment on my favourite blog today awoke a dim and distant memory. Tania said: "This feels like a metaphor. I could not think for what. For a moment, I was frustrated. Then I thought: sometimes weeding is just weeding. And that is quite all right."
I dug around in the files: here is my rather more longwinded way of saying the same thing, written in March 2003 after a walk across Beddington Park, which backed onto our home when we lived in South London.
late evening, early spring
through the local greenspace
stunned by the image
low-lying, golden sunset light
through tall tall trees
make glorious shadows
on the grass
write it down fast
make a poem
a quotable thought
capture the deeper meaning
of its loveliness
wait, though
it’s just the sun through trees
sun + trees
right place + right time
= beauty
no big deal
just here
right place, right time
as am I –
here to see
sunlight through tall trees
(I have no idea where I got the lovely photograph; it isn't one of mine. I assume I pinched it from somewhere on the internet back in 2003, and apologise for the lack of credit where credit was due.)
