A Thousand Lines

(Contemplating an ink sketch of a tree)

I love the way one line
Runs into another.
The interconnectedness of
a thousand black ink lines on paper
Reminds me of people –
of everyone I ever knew
Or met, or saw for a brief moment:
A passenger on the bus in Aarhus,
Someone waiting at London Stansted,
A driver in another car on the M5,
A man reading a newspaper in a pub in Kerry,
The lady in the train kiosk at Struer Railway station,
Classmates, all teachers – a teacher.

An old lady who once taught me
how to read music and
the most precious gift of smiling –
‘bringing sun shine into a room’.
Defining self against oneself
or despite oneself.
Sun shine and smiles,
and beautifully old, wrinkled hands,
stocky built after many generations of farming and labour,
but at 80 years old playing Mozart and Chopin, arthritically,
and Kuhlau, drawing out those amazing sounds
from the black grand piano
taking up the whole of the bungalow living room,
like the music, taking up a whole life –
A long life,
her skin defined by a thousand delicate lines,
happy smiling lines
criss-crossing her cheeks and chin, and
giving her an even more ancient and wise appearance.
A long life which had been in touch with so many lives before mine,
spreading sunshine and smiles,
teaching music and laughter.

(2007/2009)

@MBJ