Next to the river, where people in gumboots walk their dogs, staying too far away to say hello, is this one road of my childhood. I call it my Way of Life. When I was young I used to walk it almost every day. Thinking about who I was, who I am and who I will be. Sitting down in the clover, writing. Listening to this special silence, which makes me so calm and peaceful inside.
Sometimes when I’m far away, living how I choose to live,I think of this place, think of my Way. Imagine it winding through the high grass in summer, losing itself in the meager plains when it’s all silent and grey in winter. Then I ask myself when I will be back. Nevers sad because I always know, that I will be. So I can dream happily of being there, perfectly alone, totally myself. Grabbing flowers and branches.
Today balancing on the rusty watergate, I realized some new wholes inside the iron. But the watergate didn’t break, it was still stable enough to carry me. It’s getting older, but it’s still strong, still beautiful, still there. Always changing and staying the same. Hopefully. I like it so much, my Way of Life, little road of my childhood, little road of today.