Without my Story

A poem from my dear friend and mate in the work of life, Tim Merry. Written on a napkin on our back porch – after a week of good work in friendship, music, forest walks and talks, delicious food and a touch of apricot wine.



What would I be without my story?
Of the whispering mind
Cop in the head
Put to Bed
Not even snoring
Just Breath

Who would I be without my stories?
Like a tree
Without the rustle of the leaves
Winter mind
To the Inside
Inside the inside
A space so wide
It has no centre
Because it is centre

Thanks Tim!