An arrow on the wall can lead to imaginative encounters
“I have a bow on my wall.
I placed it there myself.
It is primitive and ancient and all
I have is one wood tipped arrow.
The string is frayed from years of waste
The wood is brittle and split
I could not fire my one arrow
Or catch a frog with it.
And yet when I take it down
Turn it in my hands and set the string,
It has it’s own special sound
That cries to the ancient warrior in me.
It opens my memory to things I have not known
Of grass and hunts, early suns and dwindling stars.
And when I put it back again I know that I have grown
And that there is magic again in this world of plastic, steel and tar.”