The right shoes for Canberra

The right shoes for Canberra

True comfort always begins with the right shoes, and the left ones.

The first steps out the door towards a new hill.

New because each day the wide brown land is different.

Four distinct seasons celebrated and uniquely admired,

Enhanced by Vivaldi’s melodic interpretation in my ears.

The right shoes take me up the right mountains, and the left.

A hill for every suburb, the wealthy hills as picturesque,

As the ones in government housing, eyes and ears singing

As seasons of Vivaldi flow into Dvorak

A new world for my shoes to discover.

Once when there was only flat ground to walk,

I taught myself to knit at the same time.

Soft tweed yarn, in circles, the beginnings of a new jumper

To keep my walking warm. The comfort of the yarn,

And my working fingers, warmer than the gloves they made.

True comfort continues with the walk to rehearsal

My French horn held heavy in my hands.

Trombone to my right and lower brass to the left

Left and right shoes tapping in time (mostly)

And the conductors beating hand, down, left, right, up.

Comfort in the goosebumps from the rising, swelling sound.

Warmth trickles through fingers and breath.

The mellow, delicious gold of the horn, flowing,

Floating to fit in perfectly in with the greater song.

Each familiar note part of the musical puzzle.

No room to play horn in the house,

The noisy neighbours doth protest

No comfortable silence allowed.

Comfort then in piano scales

The rhythm, symmetry and perfect sound.

No notes out of tune, right up the piano

And left back down, hands meet in the middle

Then go their own ways again.

Comfort in the consistent sound

And Dickens Little Dorrit in my ears.

The perfect comfort in a cup of Canberra breakfast

Words on a page, the older the better

And a cat on my lap, cuddling close

The right shoes and the left,

Left by the door

For tomorrow.