The Path Through Millfield Wood
I shall remember the path through Millfield wood as metaphor:
The stretching of reluctant sinew, the bidding of unwilling bone.
Eyes focused on a narrow footpath
Like mine-detectors, searching for flints and stumps
Concealed beneath autumnís leaf-litter,
And for those ankle-snatching brambles that would trip
Just as the snatch-sight of a redbreast
Wrests from me attentionís watch.
The track narrows, darkness like an ambush
Wraps us in its fetid, fungal breath.
Then suddenly, light!
A welcome respite,
A bursting out, a gaol-break.
Breath gasps as the rising path
Grasps at my laboured intake,
But there, just in view, the bench.
A plain wooden slab where we can sit
And rest our eyes upon a townís drab sprawl
Ameliorated by tree-wrapped hills
That cup an ordered audacity in healing hands.
The path suddenly made smooth.
Darkness dissolving into light.
Ascent and rest.
The saving gift of forgiving grace.
Metaphor: a moment of Godís own sight.