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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

A Stroll Around Antrim Lake

It was stray conversation
in the year of nowhere.
An evening whose sky was not blue
or gray,
in the middle of summer.
Sunday,
that day preceding the obligations
of Monday.
Mary and I,
looking down at the ducks
from a wooden terrace at Antrim Park.

This story begins and ends
looking at ducks,
and walking around the lake.
It was crowded with men and women,
children on bikes,
joggers,
a few fishermen trying their luck.
The woods was dark and thick
along the lane,
the lane itself wide enough for everyone.

The sun cast bronze on the water.
Everyone watched everyone else.
Everyone was timeless.
We shared one purpose.
In walking, life stopped here.
Swinging arms, moving legs,
sharing or keeping distant,
a one-time always returning breath,
leaving oneself behind,
following like a shadow.

A family of people,
a path that for this moment
has these faces,
these groups and individuals
coming together.
And in my musing,
before I sleep,
next year if next year comes,
can I say,
I saw you there?
My family of strangers,
strolling around Antrim Park,
saying hello with side-long glances,
Mary and I,
enjoying your company.

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