Written by Jung in 1956, I see from my notes
that I bought it in 1976, read it then,
and re-read it in 1985, 1987, and 2009,
all years of mini-crises. It is on the table
before me now and finally I have time
to sit and read the pages, not speed reading
for information, but to digest them, one by one.
Time on my hands: so precious these moments
alone, with the sun filtering through the kitchen
and the autumn leaves storing up sunlight
like an old precious wine before they fall.
I sip slowly at this bottle filled with life,
knowing that my friends are there, knowing
I can call them on the phone or knock
on their doors to be greeted with warmth,
an arm round the shoulder, the offer of a meal …
but really, I prefer this solitude, my adventures
with the cat, my slow stroll, not through the autumn
woods, but through the leaves of this book.
This poem is dedicated to my good friend Judy Wearing who challenged me to write a positive poem about my experiences alone in the house looking after the cat. I would like to thank Judy for thinking of me at this time and encouraging me to be positive!