Who knew that places held
so deep the layers of a heart
so rich the memories of a life
so much the fabric of our round existence
Who knew the grief that newness brings
while letting go of older things
tears that fall and tears that rip
lost moments from our lives
Who knew we needed places all
reminding us of who we are
and when we wander far from these
we wander from our heart
It takes time to build a life again
time to thread new memories down
and in the tasseled warp and weft
a wandering heart once more be found
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Dear Liz, I am in awe of your putting your feelings and experience into words. I feel my words are not an adequate response, but if that’s the case, delete and forget. I found myself recalling moments when I felt dislocated in locations that had changed in my years of absence – and some that had hardly changed in forty odd years. Just in one particular neighbourhood, in the south of Scotland where I was at school for a year: my heart leapt into my mouth when we drove round a corner to see again the three hills, not seen since, but a source of glad remembrance of a time that was not all happiness by any chalk. Round another corner, the field we once used for sledging had sprouted a young forest, disconcerting. (but Sir Walter would have approved). The suspension footbridge still sways when two people march across it in-step, the ruined Abbey more cared-for than I remembered; the inscription that we loved with our first year of learning Latin: hic jacet Archibald"; or did I imagine it; I could not find it and the man at the gate knew it not (but the world wide web does). Typing those few lines brings back memories of how we boys could be kind or cruel by turns, for reasons, not reasons but still-ignorant, still growing emotions, acting on each other, on oneself. Yet soon after reading your piece I was phoned out of the blue by one of my schoolmates and I could call up a good few more. Tacit forgiveness and open companionship are today’s motivations. I pray that your tears may irrigate the seeds of hope. Here is one view of that landscape. Maurice. https://agnellusmirror.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/eildons-640×334.jpg Sir Walter Scott was responsible for increasing the forest cover in his part of Scotland, the Borders. This was one of his favourite viewing places, now called Scott’s View. What he found in the Highlands was another matter.
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Thanks for your response Will. I’m glad you could connect with the poem in the way you did. Time and change are all part of life’s journey for us all it seems. Blessings, liz
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