Inklings October: Reflections
This month, we explore a few facets of life as we know it: the passing of time and the discoveries that it brings us, the depth of meaning found within the "little things" that make up our daily lives, and the complications that come with being part of a larger society. We invite you to fall into these musings on daily life and its many slants and surfaces, and enjoy a new perspective!
The Lonely Old Traveler
I climb through the window, I get out my pen,
The city of London below.
I'm sitting upon the rim of Big Ben,
Looking o'er London, covered in snow.
I write here above you, still and alone,
On the edge of a clock, my cold, bitter throne.
Nothing to do but write poetry,
No one up here but this window, and me.
I sit on this rock, I get out my book,
Between these redwoods, tall and proud.
It’s Washington forest, but it’s my little nook,
Smothered in autumn’s shroud.
The birds in my ears, the peace in my heart,
Right in the middle of nature’s best art,
I read here remembering, quiet and free,
No one is out here but this book, and me.
I walk to the crest, where it always snows,
Atop a great mountain, high in the sky,
I stand here in silence, and no one else knows,
A beautiful sight, I let out a sigh.
All over the world, I’ve been everywhere,
Searching for sights that are distant or rare,
My wife and family are buried in stone,
So I travel the world now, forever alone.
I’d searched the whole world, all the way ‘round
To try and find peace about what’s underground,
But now that It’s found I’ll continue to roam,
I’ll explore until death, then I’ll not be alone.