Cleaning/straightening/going through things and I found a journal from a long-ago trip. Musings and memories:
Today it rained, first day in five,
Unless you count the snow two nights ago.
Next morning, Kensington’s purple crocuses
Lay blanketed in a diamond duvet.
All is wet tonight, shiny with sky tears
Replacing my tears at leaving.
This ancient place has exhumed memories
Years buried, believed safely decayed.
Each long walk by calm canal, narrow close
Mosaic-ed arch, called them stronger forward;
Like the ghosts of London’s layered lanes,
My ghosts will not be tamed by time
As I would wish.
I am haunted; soul’s wounds long put by
Have freshened with this night’s spring rain.
What is their claim upon my heart, what part
Of life today should I give away to past sorrows?
My footsteps echo softly round dawn-quiet neighborhoods;
Memories do not tread so lightly inward.
To others, I walk alone,
My cadre of companions invisible.
Who sees another’s nostalgia, sorrow,
Grief, regret, and pain?
All my partners on this trek.
Yet, I am not sad. It’s right for
This well-lived place to evoke such ache.
I will not run from ghosts,
But bid them welcome in, to talk.
The past walks close by me tonight,
My last in rainy London.