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“But by the time you’ve worked long enough, hard enough, Real Life (which insists on being capitalised as if it were a personage with a proper name and a right to barge into this rental unit called your life) begins to reveal itself as something other than effort, other than accomplishment. Real Life wishes to be left to its own purposeless devices.” Patricia Hampl ‘The Art Of The Wasted Day’
The Real Life
I set a course some moons ago,
plains of windmill grass and dianellas
were simple pleasures,
creeks with flooded gums along blue grass banks and
granite outcrops boasting ghost gums pleased the eye
as much a solace as any company of kind,
while the hills challenged my humble frame,
just as human contact did at every turn
and over time I lost my way
as other, lesser things, intruded.
One day I heard the kookaburras laugh
and I took it personally,
what a fool this way travels they sang,
chastened, I quelled my madding mind,
and reset my compass heart
for deviations, tangents,
the real life.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
