Friday, July 23, 2021

Front Street At Four

A nighttime walk around front street.  
 Come downtown at four.
Think of many things as they come to you.
I trail around behind Rusty and see what I see...
He sniffs and searches and i take photographs and ponder old age.
It's fun looking around an empty street. I was listening to some colleagues frightening themselves with ghost stories about murder victims walking the Seven Mile Bridge at midnight struck through by the car they were driving in, the ghost woman at the Police Station haunting the nighttime corridors and strange lights seen at the cemetery. 
To me it's all nonsense. I see nothing except what my camera records. I stay quiet while the believers churn the stories. I walk the streets at night and am undisturbed by phantoms. I dream of future journeys, not past lives.
“T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Mov’d earth and heaven, that which we are, we are:
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

― Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Ulysses
"Not to yield" of course, unless there is a stop sign in the road.

3 comments:

Don said...

Your co-workers annot be sot dumb! Well, at leaat I hope not. I love the photos you share. I live in the same world but don't find images to post. You, and Rusty, do a great job. Thank you.

Don said...

Your co-workers cannot be so dumb! Well, at leaat I hope not. I love the photos you share. I live in the same world but don't find images to post. You, and Rusty, do a great job. Thank you.

Perry said...

I appreciate Tennyson’s “Ulysses.” Great poem about an old man still seeking adventure and not being satisfied with a hum drum existence:

I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.