Balanced on a Moment
Atop the Common Village Hill,
My favourite place to be.
Sun splintered into little orbs
Amid a golden hazy sea.
The misty morning dew so fresh
And yet not fresh enough to wash away
For what memories
Occupy such a place as this...?
The place unchanging
But the person never to remain
Never for even a second the same.
A running child’s hand that brushes ears of corn
Or teenager that runs as rain pours
And drops the rebel cigarette on the plain
To a full-grown woman sporting a ring that sparkles
Like those splintered orbs
On a photo film pane.
And our stage at any certain age
Is an abstraction of our whole:
We are, all of us,
From birth to death
In a diaphanous cloud of being
– Balanced on the moment.
And peppered here and there
These moments fall upon this space;
This hill of Cranham Common, a favourite place.
Across the valley, a church steeple towers;
In spring sprung an abundance of flowers
And so much green on the trees
Covering branches, in summer unseen,
Naked winter branches bare beneath.
And sometimes bare am I, and sometimes whole,
With cares dispelled.
Yet on this hill, both here and not,
Where memories surge,
My abstracted beings converge…
Balanced on a moment
Atop of Cranham Common Hill.