‘the life of mankind is brief like a sparrow flying in and out of a warm hall’ Bede
On the train from Hull through Holderness
with the flat fields sparkling with dew ponds
and new growth, I am green with longing.
I am going to meet my stories again,
the ones barely out of notebooks,
that I have fostered, and now must fly.
They do not know me yet, shifting and flapping,
hearts beating wildly, as if to escape their chests,
only my will holds them in the room.
But by breakfast time tomorrow, transformed
from those first, awkward meetings,
there will be trust, and perhaps some liking.
And they may flutter confident across the room,
Bede’s sparrow enjoying the brief warmth of my fire
before returning to dark, breath-stealing, winter.
And that tentative bird flight makes me think
of ‘going to the pictures’ and all its rituals,
from outside cold to warm and dim-lit story,
never quite long enough, then into the night again.
© James Nash 2015