slowly

Yesterday afternoon, my Aunt Christine sent me a copy of this long lost poem, published by my grandfather in a Tasmanian newspaper when I was eight.

I burst into tears when I saw it.

This is one of those things - and oftentimes the smallest things - that was a pivotal moment in my life. I can still remember walking the oval around Howrah Primary School in Hobart. I was in grade 3. Our teacher - Mrs Nichols - took us out for a walk to inspire us to poetry.

I remember marvelling at how 'slow' everything seemed. The slow-growing grass, the slow puffs of clouds meandering across the sky - everything slowed for me in that moment, and so this poem was born.

I also remember sending the poem to my beloved grandfather - Bampa - who was a journalist/photographer/historian at the time, living in Burnie, Tasmania. To my utter delight, he organised to have this published in the  newspaper he was working for at the time.

I still remember the overwhelming thrill of seeing my first piece of work published. It was truly life-defining.

At school visits, kids often ask me when I first started writing. I mention this poem and how it's always been dear to my heart - so imagine how I felt when I saw this.

Thank you, Auntie Christine.

Have you been fortunate enough to have something wonderful re-enter your life lately?