I Can See Myself There Poem by Bill Galvin

Packing my travel bags once again,
Setting out to see some new sights;
Coming back, just can’t say when;
Maybe after seeing the Northern Lights.

Crossing this threshold which is embedded,
Somewhere between there and here;
Don’t even know where I’m headed…
But I can see myself there.

Trekking some new found mountain trail;
Finding some new riverbank;
Searching the sea for a new white sail;
Or, some days, just drawing a blank.

Crossing over northern border lines;
(Pouvez-vous me dire de l'époques)
Can you tell me of these times?
And can you turn off all of your clocks?

At a street café, sipping a glass of wine,
Or a demitasse of some strong coffee;
Observing the flow of this River of Time,
Passing in front, and moving about me.

Crossing this threshold which is embedded,
Somewhere between there and here;
Don’t even know where I’m headed…
But I can see myself there.

Driving two-lanes to regions remote,
To where the blacktop runs to its end;
And dusty back roads tend to promote
An offering for solitary souls to befriend.

Roads up north, they tend to fade away,
Ending at shoreline, with no further to go;
Or wandering cold toward tundra gray;
So far north, forests don’t dare to grow.

Trusting in the suggestions of an Inner Guide,
Mapping the future of my traveling;
No matter how long, how far, or how wide,
If we stay on good terms, there’ll be no unraveling.

Crossing this threshold which is embedded,
Somewhere between there and here;
Don’t even know where I’m headed…
But I can see myself there.

Heading out, maybe, for coastal highlands;
Maritime mysteries may be beckoning;
Maybe kayaking to some offshore islands,
And practicing my dead reckoning.

Or stalking wild berries in an upland barren;
They may still be in season.
“The Art of Picking Blues and Zen”,
Written in my mind, years ago, for no reason.

Lupine everywhere will be blooming,
Along with all other kinds of wild flowers;
Finding a field in a place unassuming,
Together, we may while away some hours.

Stopping by the Saint John River bay,
Saluting mom’s ancestral family Hicks;
Dropping in where the local fishermen play,
Seeing what they may be doing for kicks.

New friend Kimmie might arrive singing;
Reminding me there at every sunrise,
To make a count of all of my blessings…
Yes - helping reframe any lows into highs.

Peering from a bluff on a folding chair,
Looking for pods of dolphin and whale;
Sea breezes blowing through my hair;
Pursuing my version of a holy grail.

Meandering about in my philosophy,
Me with my walking stick, on a seaside hill;
If the daytime bluebird can’t sing for me,
Then maybe the evening whip-poor-will will.

The moon there may be waxing or waning,
And fog may roll in and cover the cove;
But as long as there is still any time remaining,
You’ll find me savoring Nature’s treasure trove.

Lying down while getting my natural rest;
Freeing the mind and clearing the head;
Reviewing all of the Creator’s best;
Satisfied with all that had been done and said.

Trusting in the suggestions of an Inner Guide,
Mapping the future of my traveling;
No matter how long, how far, or how wide,
If we stay on good terms, there’ll be no unraveling.

Crossing this threshold which is embedded,
Somewhere between there and here;
Now, I have an idea of where I’m headed…
And, I can clearly see myself there.

8-19-2015