She runs the winding towpath of my life.

Sometimes an instant there and then she’s gone –

to reappear, a glimpse around a bend,

through stands of plants, the hazing of the years.

A fleeting picture, though of long ago,

now veiled in time and blurred in falling tears.

And though I’m sure, like me, the years have etched

lines of life’s triumphs, laughter and regrets,

yet in my mind’s eye she remain the same,

a lovely creature free to run with grace.

 

 

David Garlick, Kennet and Avon Canal, England, July, 1997