Poetry – The Custodian

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.