on the willow tree
Light, that too fleeting
moment of green, heat,
is this autumn light,
this never leave me
Gone before you know it
Eyes. Write. Now. This
Today is our anniversary. The day the five Tayabali musketeers arrived in a green village of bridges and set our travel-worn feet inside the house with the lantern and the willow.
November has such a strange feel to it. There is a glorious arrivingness about autumn, and then suddenly, a sense of something missing, or lost, pervades. The fall of darkness surprises me every year.
And yet, this is the only month whose leaves make their way into my journal, onto my walls, year after year.
On Monday, instead of starting school as I did that Monday an eternity ago, I shall be gowned up for another glaucoma operation. I am looking forward to it about as much as I did my first day of school in England! It's general anaesthesia this time, possibly because the Blue Eyed Surgeon doesn't want any more song requests...
linked to dverse poets