Reflections on Ageing

Lady in the Park

Hearing her voice no one could tell,

She hid her age,

Wearing it well.

Her neatly coiffed hair shone in the sun.

Now over eighty,

She’d had a great run. 

She stood fairly tall,

Reluctant to stoop.

The little bend sideways not showing at all.

Seeing her silhouette ahead in the sun,

I realised slowly,

What age she’d become.

old lady

Even as a child, I loved to listen to stories. My father often told me stories about his life. Growing up in Australia I floridly imagined the places in Europe based on his descriptions only.

Through him, I became aware of the treasure trove of thoughts and experiences we all share. These form ideas, flesh out characters and add the element of believability to a piece of writing.

When I was old enough to catch the bus alone, I rode into the city, spending hours in King George Square. I sat there among the pigeons and the homeless watching people. I tried to imagine what their homes would be like? Were they alone? Happy?

I had time, I could play.

Time flew.  My eye halting on the thing that is out of kilter. I noticed the glitch. Inconsistencies are wonderful. I love using them because they add colour and surprise to the character. They make them interesting.

Undertaking the writing of ‘Schicksal’, my years of reading and observing people helped enormously to flesh out ideas and create a believable reality upon which the story could rest. This poem came from my observation of a lady walking ahead of me.

She was much older than I had initially thought.

Please share your experiences and thoughts. I’d love to hear where you gather your inspiration for your writing.



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