back yard, bats, doe, dreams, England, God, happiness, Harry Potter, heat wave, Mamma, Mary Alice Monroe, poem, Poetry, rain, Secret Garden, summer, Sweden, The Goblet of Fire, thunder, Time Is A River
A Girl’s Dream: This Town
Anna Josefin Palm
Thursday, June 28, 2012
I do like this house.
Far away from the excitement,
The urban, hectic life I dream of.
… well, yes, despite that it’s too quiet around here.
With two good high schools, a library,
Lots and lots churches,
No downtown, not even a movie theater.
It’s nice here.
It is slightly parallel with the old country,
Since it is closer to wild life.
There is even a small animal kingdom in my backyard.
Ignoring the suburban surroundings, a doe
Decided to go on an adventure.
I silently gasp at her gentle stature when Mamma
Pokes me to put the pen aside.
I feel like a child watching the bats waking up as the
Sun is slowly gliding behind the horizon,
Its shining hands painting the fading blue sky with
Pink and gray and purple and orange.
Matt would have laid down on the grass, folded
His hands behind his head and
Quietly admired this spectacle.
Dearest Rose would enjoy the sunset as well.
It would breeze through her and settle the storm in her mind.
I know she would certainly also
Love the thunder
That seems to have gathered inside one mean cloud,
Lightning that gray fluff,
Looking like giant fire flies, glowing, dying,
Pause… glowing, dying again.
Birds are growing tired and their song tone down.
Sometimes a bat sends a ring into the
Approaching night, flutters above the roofs.
Cicadas are stepping in, like an after-show special.
Instead of a loud hiss that press your
Ear-drums at noon,
They raise their voices to a slow, rising buzz
That vibrates the air.
Air that you could touch, thickened
By the summer heat.
Today the wave continued to hit us,
Worse than predictable tidal waves.
More like a cranky pregnant woman who
Claims again and again that it’s
Too hot in the living room, and
Yells at her husband to turn up the AC.
Even the bats left their nest towards
The end of the afternoon
And swooped by the pool to drink,
Then quickly retreated back to the
Shadows inside the big tree.
I look up from my book—The Goblet of
Fire—and start thinking.
In the story… it is
Raining as Harry and his two best friends board the train.
I start thinking of a wide flower field that
Stretches out in front of me until it
Touches the line of trees in the distance.
Could as well be Sweden, with the majority of its
Landscape left to its own business,
Unmarked by man.
… But now I am thinking of England, of its
Own old country.
The woods, small huts, cows, birds, a moor
Recalled from Secret Garden,
A festival of flowers.
The thought that appeals to me the most is
Nothing feels holier than rain.
To me at least.
However, I don’t think of any religious purpose
One might have.
I think of peace of mind. A nice, quiet town
Like this does not give me
Peace. It brings me happiness.
God knows that counting my
Is the closest I’ll ever
Get to praying.
Anyway… perhaps living in a cabin
Somewhere in England, where I could
Spend my days writing,
Would be healthy.
I want out.
I want to stop living
Half of my life
Inside my head.
Watching the bats passing by once more,
Drinking the pool water in
Makes me imagine living in
A magical place.
Like Hogwarts. Similar to most children,
I wanted to go there, but
Let’s be honest.
If I was reading Time Is A River, I would
Now fantasize of spending my
Summer at the mountains in North Carolina.
Pretty much anywhere else but in this
Little, little calm town.
The lone thing to stimulate my spirit
Is to put these childish wishes
Until opportunity calls…
Is all I am.