Thursday, February 28, 2019

Thursday Poem - The Moment

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Margaret Atwood,
from Morning in the Burned House

1 comment:

Mystic Meandering said...

I've always loved this poem, but I especially love your photo of those wonderful trees. Holy Sentinels draped in snow... watchers, guardians... You have certainly captured the "energy" of the moment in them. Really speaks to me today... Thank you...