Peninsula

In my head there’s a finger of land and it’s pointing outwards in the direction of water. It could be an admonition, a telling off, but it’s not so hard as that. Not stone. Not impenetrable. No, it’s more of a friendly pointing to something other, something beyond, something I don’t quite see yet.

I may not see, but I do hear. I hear the river just beyond the finger’s edge. It’s so near you could argue that it’s inside of me – a practised beat, a pulse of life that runs around and through and over, racing round the corner of my vision.

So, I’m inside this circle of land and sea: an equal part of the thrum of life; this bright living thing we all pay into.

Gera, 01/10/2008