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Tossing the Coin

My hands hang, limp, cold.
I stuff them into my pockets
and trudge on,
following our path.
But you move faster,
further, higher,
until touched by Midas.
A hard gold sovereign,
as cold as the pound coin
in my pocket
that I twist and turn
and over with
my tortured thoughts.

You stare down
through arms
out held.
A fine filigree veil
of translucent white
that catches
my frosted breath
and, just for a moment,
we are in step.
But now you are
so far from me,
taunting me,
without even the
weakest promise of warmth…

When I turned to you
that summer morning
so many seasons ago
the veil gone,
you gripped my hands tightly
as if you would never let go…

I toss the coin to the ground
kicking and stamping it
into the mulch of leaves.
It’s then I breathe again,
the rich earthy promise
of new life from old.
I hear myself say
‘Don’t you love this time of year?’

I hear myself say ‘I do.’

©Julia Angell 2013
Written for and performed at Schubertiade 2013

Aside from being a real ale connoisseur with a bus pass, Julia Angell is a keen sailor who saved her dinghy from becoming a flower bed. She also coxes the local Celtic longboat. Julia believes that life is all about finding the rhythm and loves living ‘at the edge’. She sings with the Singing Village group, her therapy, she says, organizes local salsa dances and plays a bougarabou, an African drum. She also writes monologues… and the odd poem. Her only claim to fame is having a poem published on the back of a beer mat. She feels that this is particularly apt.