I am travelling in the slow lane.
The lane where people can pass.
Where I can hardly hear those who rush,
or who spend their time in debate.
I am in the slow lane,
which is also the high road.
The long scenic route,
where if you needed to arrive somewhere
you wouldn't take.
But my road is slow,
which doesn't mean idle.
But where there is time to talk,
and more often still to listen
to the heart speak,
or to the silences deep,
where Eugene Peterson has said
gratefulness lives.
So while you are speeding in the fast lane,
I am seeing behind the hedges,
and hearing what would speak
if given half an ear.
And though this last half of my life
might pass like a breath of wind
I will seek to slow,
slow it right down.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
September 2021
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