by Tyler Bigney
Spent the morning chopping
and piling wood and then fished
the dusty afternoon alone.
Fished as the sun dipped
behind the trees.
Fished as the dark came on.
I didn’t catch a damn thing,
but looking up from the river
now and then,
seeing those blue mountains
and hearing the faint, distant sounds
from the road, a few miles back,
I realized how nice it was to be
far away from everything – and myself.
Author’s Comment: I wrote this piece in Moscow, Russia. I was lying in bed listening to the traffic outside, and wishing I was back in Nova Scotia. I longed for the simplicity of piling wood, fishing, and being far from everything. Knowing I couldn’t go home, I sat down and jotted this out before going to bed. In the morning I read my sleepy eyed scribbles over, and liked it enough to call it a “poem”.
Bio: Tyler Bigney was born in 1984. He lives, and writes in Nova Scotia, Canada. He writes short stories, travelogues, and poetry. He is currently working on a novel.