The commute

Part of the commute is
not, as you might expect,
that sense of going forward
to meet the day and work.
Most days I don’t even think of it.
I do think of what’s behind me though.
As the landscape rushes by
there’s the view in the mirror
as driveway and village disappear
the hills change, the sun rises there.
The cats will be sleeping again,
my forgotten lunch waits in the frig,
my work sits on the studio table,
and for now I can only glance back
until the traffic ties me
to the view ahead and
what’s before me.
6 april 2013

When it comes to defining what I do
what thing it is that surrounds me daily
the choices may not be simply a few
the different realms I enter gaily
I start down the road each morning seeing,
noting the view, the light and the seasons
but what to expect and come into being –
not as easy to follow the reasons.
I’m not saying each one’s not a passion
that consumes me, my life, nights and days
they don’t come and go, a fickle fashion
but each representing myriad ways.
Am I writer, quilter or poet then?
I share my vision however I can.
5 April 2013