My Diary

 

A stranger saw me writing,

Journaling the passing of the days

We stopped, we talked

Food and notebook set aside

 

An hour of peace snatched

from a day of haste

mug of tea at quiet table

indoor splashing waterfall ‘longside

 

she mentioned her own journal

recording twenty years

of follies foolishness and tears.

I smiled, remembering mine

 

Our journals are our footprints

Recording where we’ve been

I ask me, “Did you really do that?”

See volume 17 in ink upon the page

 

She paid, arose and bid goodbye

A friendly wave then through the door

This chance time lunch encounter

Put a context to my notes