Trawsfynydd:
A Sestina
I have
this blessèd interval of peace,
A pile
of books and notes and files to read,
The
hours stretch out before me like a path,
A week
out of time to do some writing.
Inside
the cottage all is very still;
Out in
the world, the sky is dazzling blue.
Unsettling
my mind, I’m yearning for blue –
The
hills lure me out with promise of peace.
I walk
to the lake, its quiet waters still,
The beauty
of God is there to be read.
Yet
somehow I must get back to writing …
I sigh
and retrace my steps down the path.
And muse
as I walk down the soft, green path,
Turning
my back on the water so blue,
On my
research, that I should be writing;
Instead
I’m possessed by a deep, quiet peace,
Which
bids me forget what I need to read
And
start on this poem in quietness still.
So I get
out my journal, sit quite still,
Fall
into reverie, follow the path
Of my
thoughts as I write, re-write, then read,
Begging
the muse to come out of the blue
Bestowing
on me her blessing of peace
As
words start to flow, and I am writing.
Bliss
happens. I would not exchange writing
The joy
of creation, that serves to still
My
restless heart and restore my lost peace,
Placing
me firmly back on the right path.
Words
down on paper – why was I so blue?
I pull
the files towards me, start to read.
I read
and take notes, then once again read,
Nothing
now stops the flow of the writing.
I
glance outside, the sky is now dark blue.
I look
at my watch, quite unready still
To
stop work just yet, now seeing the path
To
fulfilment, and a deep, grace-filled peace.
No
more time to read, it’s time to be still;
No
more swift writing, I’ve mapped out the path,
With
quick strokes of blue, time to trust in peace.
Not the best sestina in the world. But it has satisfied a very deep need in me, to translate what is in my heart into words on paper. Writing is such a glorious satisfaction. I feel so very blessed.
