“The Visit” is a poem I wrote in response to an amazing experience that confronted me.
Whilst viewing an open garden in the town of my birth, I was drawn to the middle of the this splendid display. There, stood a fruit tree that was quite old and gnarly, but beautifully so.
Having a logical method of thinking, I was stunned to ‘see’ little children playing in the bows of the tree. I was staring at them and yet others about me did not react simply because they were not physically there.
The garden itself was only a short bike-ride away from my childhood home but nothing of it was familiar, nor did the accompanying home look so.
This feeling was something new to me and I had never encountered such a thing before, nor since.
Upon leaving the garden, I was tormented by this sighting and although it was not frightening in any way, in fact the opposite is true, I immediately contacted my mother and other members of my family. Needing some idea as to what had just occurred.
To my absolute wonder, I was informed that in fact this home and garden, belonged to my grandfather and was part of a larger holding of land and dwellings throughout the area. This particular home was not one he lived in and it was let out to another family.
I left my childhood home at age 5 because of tragic circumstances, and together with other family moved to a near-by town.
I was informed that ,as a child I used to pay at this garden and yes, climbed and scampered through the trees there.
The reality of this told me that memories are time spaces, rooms if you will, that are always there and ready to be accessed.
Time does pass, but memories of time still lay there as if by another life form. They remain waiting for us to be ready.
Enjoy the poem.
The visit was impromptu
The memory door opened
By the way of a tree
Was a world forgotten
Children with their days
Scampering and scaling
Colour and laughter pervading
No time to wait
The search goes deeper, familiar
Faces seen, bodies being known
Had time stopped un-knowingly
Arriving is pondered
Other life, a way before
Forgotten not abating
Memories lie in wait
The keys carried
Is beauty to be feared