Moving

If I were a tree, I would not consider
moving, my roots firm in soil,
beneath green grass in summer
and in autumn a leafy litter
of russet, amber, umber, ochre.

If I were a snail, I’d carry my home,
followed by a silver trail,
free to wander and to roam
across tarmac, stone and loam,
sheltered by my spiralled dome.

But I was born a fickle human:
on one hand a longing to sail
the world, on the other the conclusion
that it’s safer to live in isolation,
constantly changing with the seasons.

Until I found a paradise on earth –
now home and hearth has greater worth.

Kim M. Russell, 1st November 2023

Susan is hosting What’s Going On this week, with a prompt about moving house: the transition from steward of place to occupant of space.  She asks us to delve into our own experiences, or take inspiration from one of the poems she has chosen for us, to create a moving house-and-home poem. We can write about life-altering move(s) we have made, what we brought from old home to new, or our ultimate fantasy moves.

21 thoughts on “Moving”

  2. Ahh Kim – but to be a tree.. growing taller and stronger with roots deepening …. but yes, you describe so profoundly the human conundrum of choice to wander, to explore, or to be safe as the seasons move and we with them . Lovely.

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  3. Ah, I think I would like to be a snail….free to roam, carrying my home on my back…being able to (hopefully) be able to move to a place of safety if needed! A thoughtful, thought-provoking reflection.

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  5. Lovely, lovely, especially the tree and the snail (and the human), with rhyme. But I want to hear more about the paradise! A worth that makes a human not-fickle? I think I’ve known that for a time (or two).

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