How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
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.
Shadows shift softly
in the early hours
transposed across the ceiling.
Quietly. Differently.
You wake to unfamiliar sounds
which, like shadows, will become
familiar over time.
The bed feels as it did before, even
as it rests in a new place. It is there
you realize comfort
in your new home.
Traffic patterns adjust to another route.
We all settle into new coordinates.
There is always a different way.
We experience change
throughout our lives; a new address,
a fresh set of keys, another neighbourhood,
perhaps more stairs, each
taking you closer
to a place you belong.
We live where we are,
the context often new, but
you come to know home
is where you feel you belong.
©2929 j.g. lewis
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.