THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
When we climbed the slopes of the cutting
We were eye-level with the white cups
Of the telegraph poles and the sizzling wires.
Like lovely freehand they curved for miles
East and miles west beyond us, sagging
Under their burden of swallows.
We were small and thought we knew nothing
Worth knowing. We thought words travelled the wires
In the shiny pouches of raindrops,
Each one seeded full with the light
Of the sky, the gleam of the lines, and ourselves
So infinitesimally scaled
We could stream through the eye of a needle.
From: Wintering Out
Publisher: Faber & Faber, 1972
It seemed fitting to start with the inspiration for this blog’s name and with a poem about beginnings, distant through the hazy eyes of retrospection. Words, names and beginnings root us to something, whether its the binary code of a URL address or the words streaming through the ‘sizzling wires’ of telegraph poles, conversation is the flickering fire of thought which connect us even at our most isolated.
I hesitate to declare an intent or motive for this blog as it will undoubtedly change and evolve over time. Photos, musings and words you could collect in the ‘shiny pouches of raindrops’ will, I hope, appear from time to time. For now be content to know it is for me, for you and for all those who may need it.