I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: October 2021
I am not now where I thought
I would be. Directions and
distractions have taken me
far afield, away from a path
I thought I would follow.
I was certain, at one point,
that I would arrive in a new
place with new people and
fresh opportunities.
I suppose it is a matter of
perspective.
It now feels familiar.
I feel, right now, that this is
the place I was meant to be.
More importantly, I am
now where I want to be.
Home was thousands of
miles away. Now it is here.
I am happy with that.
I am happy where I am.
10/04/2021 j.g.l.
Where is your home?
Send me a photo and tell
me something about the
place you call home.
jglewis@mythosandmarginalia.com
October is all
about the home at
Mythos & Marginalia
Home is not always where you sleep.
It need not be bricks and mortar, or
a certain city, state, or country.
Home is a feeling, as much as it is
a place, postbox, or date.
It might take a while to find home,
or your home may change with the
circumstances.
Home is not always where you go,
but what you take with you.
Over the next month, I’ll be
exploring the concept of home
right here
mythosandmarginalia.com
Several other writers and friends
have offered their thoughts as well.
What are your thoughts on home?
Send me a message
jgewis@mythosandmarginalia.com
I love to hear about your home.
10/03/2021 j.g.l.
Posted on October 2, 2021 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
We take this life not for granted, but one hour,
one day, moment by moment, not knowing when we
will no longer count. Displaced, you in your wisdom
continue the route among daily delusions and
deep-seated anonymity. Colours change,
green to amber, we rush ahead, instead of slowing
or stopping for the red and allowing traffic
to move along its hurried way.
Seldom still, we balance our lives on myth,
emotion and complications. The things we carry
become a burden.
Not often enough do we remove ourselves from the
concrete and corruption of a common urban existence
to seek comfort elsewhere; away
from city sounds we have become accustomed to.
Far away, there, where noise is noticed for
what it is, and mostly silence. Natural.
Birds, however small and hardly noticed, cry out
with intention and command our attention.
As autumn passes swiftly.
We take this time not for granted, but one hour,
one whisper, moment to moment, not knowing when
we began counting. At any point the weather will
take away the splendor we barely find space to absorb,
though we know we must.
Cold winds have been hesitant of late.
Call us fortunate, for now, yet not entirely.
We watch the sky, waiting for a sign, or a message;
one we may have been too stifled to observe.
Maybe the moon, as it shifts, with you beneath it, has
captured your fancy. You notice it more
in a nocturnal setting away from the day in
day out clamor of life, as you know it.
Each day given, each day taken,
should be an opportunity or reminder
there are lessons beyond this meaningful sky.
You pay less attention to the intangibles
and shadows of former thoughts.
We take this life not for granted, but one breath,
one season, moment upon moment, not realizing
how much it counts. We drift, not alone,
but separate among others.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
