The Custodian
Treading through the Autumn leaves
Hand in hand with his granddaughter –
They kick the golden leaves high into the air and laugh;
Their breath forming clouds of steam
That hangs in the air.
Sitting by the fireside as the logs spit sparks
That fly up the chimney,
Like orange transient stars,
Eyes wrinkled in smile lines
Deep in thought, together.
Sipping cocoa
Before the evening story,
Content and cosy,
Safe from the world
With only their imaginations stirring.
And every gesture,
Every attitude and dream,
Every story, every nuance
And custom from long gone days
That neither of them knew,
Is transmitted and passed down
That long chain.
For they are both custodians,
Mere sparks in time;
But the essence
Is passed from spark to spark
And shapes all our journeys.
Opher 30.12.2016
The Custodian
I was thinking today, in the wake of the grandchildren’s visit, of the transience of life and the abiding nature of culture. That all we do is pass through. We absorb the customs, attitudes and dreams from those we engage with and pass them on to our children and grandchildren in a relay race through time.
We are the custodians. Only custodians. We own nothing. We look after the dreams placed in our care and our function in life is to keep them intact, polish them and pass them safely into other eager hands.