(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

Wonder

 

My walk stopped along a track

Somewhere in the high country

The sort of place artists like to paint:

Trees, sky and old shacks.

 

What made me stop?

Was it air, view or silence

That stilled my soul

And softened my thoughts?

 

A tiny bird

Danced on fragile wings

Among insects in the joyful air.

Much further away, galaxies

Plunged their larger wings

 

Of solid light

Into the deathly black stillness of space,

And still I dare to wonder:

Why life? Why am I here?

 

Jim Wallace

16/12/95