Categories: Change
I hold in my hand
A heavy flint stone
Encased in hardened chalk.
I found it today on my walk.
It caught my attention
By its rounded top side.
It was partially hidden,
For fallen oak leaves
Gold, brown and crisp
Crunching under my feet
Protectingly covered it
Along with ghost sleepers.
I wonder how many underbellies
Of great metal monsters
Thundering over it
This stone has experienced
For a full century?
I prod the stone with my boot
It is well bedded in.
I feel impelled to persist.
It loosens.
I pick it up.
Its underside is black
It hasn’t seen daylight
Sine 1865!
How do I know this?
Because the first locomotive
From Guildford to Shoreham
Passed over it
Along the single raised track
Just before slowing
To enter Rudgwick Station
For the first time
In November that year
Sadly the line closed
One hundred years
After its opening
Beeching-axed
The whole then abandoned
Left to rot
Till 1984.
The tranquil tree-lined
Downs Link path
Through which I am strolling
Opened thirty -five years on.
I carry my stone home
Wash it with care
Consideringly stroke
My new find.
If only it could speak to me.
Yet by its silence
It allows my imagining
To freely roam
Way back to the past
Of smoke and steam
Evoking strong memories
Of sight and smell
The childhood excitement
Of days long ago.
I shall cherish my stone
It jogs my mind
To remember the past
Yet forcibly reminds me
That I live in the present.
I must enjoy each day
My ‘now’ walks
In order to form fresh memories
In the realisation
That long after I am gone
My stone will be found
By someone else
Continue to speak
In the future
Silently.
