The sucking sound of tires on wet asphalt builds up behind, to a piercing crescendo, then shoots forward, like the release of a rubber band, as a silver sedan races past. I traverse the tightrope of shoulder. A straight strip of cracking concrete—wide enough to walk but narrow enough to court collision—on an endless road without sidewalks or guardrails. Loose stones crunch and twist beneath my tread. I kick clusters forward, scattering them like shotgun spread. Feeling the old tug at my ankles.
I wrote this poem from the memory of something I’ve found myself doing in so many countries around the world—Czechia, Austria, Spain, Portugal, Argentina, Thailand, USA and my home country of Canada—walking on the side of the road.
On reflection, it felt like an apt metaphor for my current stage of life.
A wanderer. Solely alone. Somewhat broke. Daring to move in slowness. To do what is contrarian, misunderstood. Tread an untamed path that few choose to walk. Trying to follow the straight and narrow way to life, that Jesus speaks of. Not sure if it’s dangerous. Not sure if I’m lost. Not sure I’m supposed to be here. But going ahead anyways. Feeling like everyone is whipping by. Feeling like there’s no real place for me in this world. Kicking rocks.
My eyes adjusting. To not being able to see far into my future—my uncertainty tolerance growing. But also to the darkness that can come for me, unannounced.
Sometimes life feels like standing under a downpour.
The rain and dark clouds are symbolic of the discomfort and darkness and heaviness and tiredness that sometimes accompany me on my way. Water is an ancient symbol of chaos and the unknown. But also potential, where new things emerge. Rebirth. Like baptism. Darkness is where the light of revelation is seen and new horizons are formed.
It’s a difficult time of not knowing. But there’s a letter of invitation to embrace its beauty. Beauty in my immediate surroundings if I only pay attention. Nature as my companion through hardship. And beauty in the striving, the simple wish to find a way.
There’s an arc throughout the poem. Learning how to inhabit and embrace my aloneness, to put down its weight. Falling into a rhythm in each small step, keeping warm by keeping moving. Having a coat now, a better although imperfect way to survive the storm. Letting go of the need to know, to keep time, to compare. Accepting there will be no stark arrival.
Finding an identity as the one who mediates through both darkness and lightness, heaviness and lightness, chaos and order, nature and civilization. Not one or the other but the being between them. Who triumphs in both. But accepting the current state I find myself in as good news. Letting it work on me. Not asking premature questions. Feeling it all. Trusting.
Then the weather clears—that moment we remember that every dark cloud passes, even though it’s seeming permanence fools us. And there’s this radical remembrance. This return—a coming back to myself. This realization of hope and aliveness and wonder. That I’m made to handle all this and walk this path. That life is a boon and a blessing.
I thought carefully about each line. I hope you find the gems you look for.
I'm happily drenched by your shared memory. How do you keep going deeper and finding more life in smaller and smaller moments? This is not just the art of expression, but of perception. The degree to which you can take somebody somewhere with words is dependent on how "there" you have been yourself. You've turned "wherever you go, there you are" to "wherever Tommy goes, I get to go too."
Really enjoyed this one Tommy. I finished it and thought to myself, “that read like a beautiful poem” And then reading your comment saw that’s how you intended it to be, a poem. Loved the same lines people mentioned above about being the rain not the sun etc.
This was great pal. Your ability to write sensory details, to fill the reader's head with descriptions as if they were right there with you, continues to astound me every week. I love watching you continue to expand your skills at this craft, bravely experimenting with new styles and approaches.
This line was especially great: "And I don’t mind the weather. I’ve decided it’s all good news. I am neither the rain nor the sun, the forest nor the road, but the one who walks between. Who exists through both. The bridge across the cracks of this broken world." I can definitely relate to walking everywhere I go, no matter the weather or the distance.
Thanks for making my Saturday Morning with your writing, as always.
...delightful descriptions o' man of light...the earth around me has been drinking sky soda for about a week now and everything is so alive afterwards...i just want to sleep in it, but that might be a waste of "time"...i especially enjoyed your close doog --> "I don’t know exactly what I mean by all of this. But I mean it." --> if that isn't creation?...i have to make this...what is it?...that is for you to decide ol' adventurer...peace and pancakes bud...
'I don't know exacrtly what I mean by all of this. But I mean it.' Good stuff good stuff...just when you least expect it, you bring a bit of the old Tommy irony
Tommy, I saw your latest post in my unread mail and put off reading it because I knew it would need thought, participation, and a plunge into compelling ideas. I savored the pieces today, a bit sad when I finished reading because it was done.
Your poem drew me beside you on your walk. Thank you for the invitation and sensory experience. Outstanding!
I wrote this poem from the memory of something I’ve found myself doing in so many countries around the world—Czechia, Austria, Spain, Portugal, Argentina, Thailand, USA and my home country of Canada—walking on the side of the road.
On reflection, it felt like an apt metaphor for my current stage of life.
A wanderer. Solely alone. Somewhat broke. Daring to move in slowness. To do what is contrarian, misunderstood. Tread an untamed path that few choose to walk. Trying to follow the straight and narrow way to life, that Jesus speaks of. Not sure if it’s dangerous. Not sure if I’m lost. Not sure I’m supposed to be here. But going ahead anyways. Feeling like everyone is whipping by. Feeling like there’s no real place for me in this world. Kicking rocks.
My eyes adjusting. To not being able to see far into my future—my uncertainty tolerance growing. But also to the darkness that can come for me, unannounced.
Sometimes life feels like standing under a downpour.
The rain and dark clouds are symbolic of the discomfort and darkness and heaviness and tiredness that sometimes accompany me on my way. Water is an ancient symbol of chaos and the unknown. But also potential, where new things emerge. Rebirth. Like baptism. Darkness is where the light of revelation is seen and new horizons are formed.
It’s a difficult time of not knowing. But there’s a letter of invitation to embrace its beauty. Beauty in my immediate surroundings if I only pay attention. Nature as my companion through hardship. And beauty in the striving, the simple wish to find a way.
There’s an arc throughout the poem. Learning how to inhabit and embrace my aloneness, to put down its weight. Falling into a rhythm in each small step, keeping warm by keeping moving. Having a coat now, a better although imperfect way to survive the storm. Letting go of the need to know, to keep time, to compare. Accepting there will be no stark arrival.
Finding an identity as the one who mediates through both darkness and lightness, heaviness and lightness, chaos and order, nature and civilization. Not one or the other but the being between them. Who triumphs in both. But accepting the current state I find myself in as good news. Letting it work on me. Not asking premature questions. Feeling it all. Trusting.
Then the weather clears—that moment we remember that every dark cloud passes, even though it’s seeming permanence fools us. And there’s this radical remembrance. This return—a coming back to myself. This realization of hope and aliveness and wonder. That I’m made to handle all this and walk this path. That life is a boon and a blessing.
I thought carefully about each line. I hope you find the gems you look for.
Walking roadside.
I'm happily drenched by your shared memory. How do you keep going deeper and finding more life in smaller and smaller moments? This is not just the art of expression, but of perception. The degree to which you can take somebody somewhere with words is dependent on how "there" you have been yourself. You've turned "wherever you go, there you are" to "wherever Tommy goes, I get to go too."
“I am neither the rain nor the sun, the forest nor the road, but the one who walks between. Who exists through both.”
Present and One.
Thank you Tommy. I so look forward to your posts. What a wonderful way to wake up on this glorious Saturday morning. Your friend in my mind, Karen😎
Really enjoyed this one Tommy. I finished it and thought to myself, “that read like a beautiful poem” And then reading your comment saw that’s how you intended it to be, a poem. Loved the same lines people mentioned above about being the rain not the sun etc.
This was great pal. Your ability to write sensory details, to fill the reader's head with descriptions as if they were right there with you, continues to astound me every week. I love watching you continue to expand your skills at this craft, bravely experimenting with new styles and approaches.
This line was especially great: "And I don’t mind the weather. I’ve decided it’s all good news. I am neither the rain nor the sun, the forest nor the road, but the one who walks between. Who exists through both. The bridge across the cracks of this broken world." I can definitely relate to walking everywhere I go, no matter the weather or the distance.
Thanks for making my Saturday Morning with your writing, as always.
Really enjoyed reading this. You transported me to your walk along that road with your descriptions. Writing is a special kind of time travel.
...delightful descriptions o' man of light...the earth around me has been drinking sky soda for about a week now and everything is so alive afterwards...i just want to sleep in it, but that might be a waste of "time"...i especially enjoyed your close doog --> "I don’t know exactly what I mean by all of this. But I mean it." --> if that isn't creation?...i have to make this...what is it?...that is for you to decide ol' adventurer...peace and pancakes bud...
'I don't know exacrtly what I mean by all of this. But I mean it.' Good stuff good stuff...just when you least expect it, you bring a bit of the old Tommy irony
Tommy, I saw your latest post in my unread mail and put off reading it because I knew it would need thought, participation, and a plunge into compelling ideas. I savored the pieces today, a bit sad when I finished reading because it was done.
Your poem drew me beside you on your walk. Thank you for the invitation and sensory experience. Outstanding!
Tommy!
I was right there with you, my friend. Kicking those pebbles. Full of wonder at the surrounding sounds and sights of nature.
Brilliant, mo chāra.
👏✍️