Passage House

We all have those moments of revelation and transition in our lives. This one came to me on holiday in Dittisham, South Devon.

The gentle river's water laps the seaweed at the shore,

Across the flooding river, russet trees ascend the tor.

A bell is ringing somewhere to call the ferryman,

As wild-fowl and seagulls search for food in muddied sand.

A distant hum of engines signals cruisers floating past

The moorings of the yachts at rest who gently dip their masts.

Acknowledging the passage of travellers who see

The peaceful house we've rented for a week upon the quay.

The daily grind of London seems a life-time from this place.

The call of nature beckons me to set a slower pace.

To pause and see reflections of a lighter moment's thought,

And remind me of the things in life that really can't be bought.

The harsh cries of the seagulls sound a warning to my soul,

They say there's more to life than being chained to daily toil:

Fulfilment is a state of mind, contentment not a grail,

The fear of winning never dogs the minds of those who fail.

I've lost all I believed in, my icons have all gone.

What is the point of striving at the setting of the sun?

The Heron lives as much for flight as for the daily feed.

I should enjoy the journey more when travelling at need.

Binneyink - Summer '98