Listening to some favourite old tunes
(Fats Domino, Elvis, then ‘Moon River’…)
I remember gazing out our window
high on a hilltop overlooking the silent town
down to a moonlit river – that wide, stilled
confluence the town was built around –
darkened but known, the light a straight path
across the dim surface. I thought I might take it, some day.
That was 69 years ago; I was 14. The next year
separated me forever from my town and my home river.
I am sharing this with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #81 where I invite people to write about the city or cities they dream of – in whatever way.
When I was growing up in Launceston, Tasmania (pictures here) I experienced it as a small town, but have since learned it was already classified as a city long before I was born.
I don't want to live in Launceston again – far too cold for me now – but for many years I did dream of its scenic beauty and small-town feeling ... until I found a town with similar qualities in the sub-tropics, where I have now lived a lot longer. But I can still get nostalgic, as you see.
