Under the Sun
And so you find yourself on foot
with feet that aren't sure,
and you walk . . .
shoes, alternating with the day,
like the sun and the rain --
to spell the pain.
Momentum, the point of this
place and this time;
the unknown has no
rhythm or rhyme.
For your compass,
check in at the library,
touchstone of sanity
where knowledge is free.
The unremarkable --
best beginning, bar none.
Library met --
day's journey begun.
Heave ho! with that satchel --
the old cathedral's ahead.
Quick, grab the camera
'midst the green and the dead.
The gravestones stand tall,
weary regal, on their hill,
but sweet Katie's stone
breathes poetry still.
Back past the young fiddler
bowing old songs with a smile --
a smile back to him --
haven't heard "old" in a while.
And two swans, serene,
near riverside,
watch over each other
in parallel glide.
July 29, 2015 by Carolyn Marra
Friday, July 31, 2015:
How easily it happened -- I'm at home here. Now, if I only had a car . . . (thinking about that, what with the left-sided driving and all . . . ) I'm still expecting collisions every time the bus makes a left-hand turn onto the left side of a two-way street, but I do refrain from saying, "Watch out!" That's hopeful.
August 1, 2015
Hit a low spot today. Now, everybody wants the sun to come out, and it did. I trudged along through Limerick this afternoon and found my pace was slowed. It was hot in a way I couldn't describe. The sunlight felt overwhelmingly bright, and I thought of those earlier grey-sky days with a peculiar longing. On the heels of that came thoughts of my children -- I miss them -- so strong I thought I was going to die. I didn't die. But every step forward was an effort, the emptiness inside me drowning out my physical efforts to keep moving.
I couldn't appreciate it then, but I appreciate it now: At Bedford Row were two Native Americans selling small items, and one of them was playing a wind instrument. How odd for me to have come across them there, in Limerick, and yet how fitting for a homesick traveler who hails from the land of the Lenni Lenape. I don't know the name of the instrument the man played, but the sound was lovely.
As life would have it, I made it onto the bus and back to a friendly cafe. A cup of coffee and a million texts later, I realized that my family still believes in me, in this trip I decided to take. I felt like a loser today, but they don't see it that way.
Coming out of the cafe with trails of texts running through my head, I realized that I'm going to make it. At the same time, the sky turned a lovely shade of grey. This confirmed it: All would be well. I was in my element once again. I did my evening shopping and trudged "home" overladen -- the usual way I end up, juggling the weighty bags . . . but totally content. Peace had descended once again.
When I got back to my lodgings, an old song was running through my head. I dug it up on YouTube. As I listened to it, I started to laugh. In terms of this afternoon, it was just so . . . me.
"It Never Rains in Southern California"
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