The Watershed

The Watershed There was a time when 45, I thought life had passed me by I had spent too much time seeing the night train leave. Through the rain, soaked train windows saw people reading some looked into space and there were those who tried not to cry. My friends had drifted away and my old mate Trond had found God and to think we sat all night long talking about books and in the morning we went out in his boat fishing drinking cold beer and falling asleep as spring the sun danced on the blue water in the fjord and wind from the dark mountain didn’t blow. The best women too lost patience and took the tram home to mum and dad waiting for you to grow up. At 45, your parents begin dying the impossible happens and you are a floating iceberg lost in a glass of whisky. And just as wheels on suitcases are invented you grow up polish you shoes and find that little cabin in a hidden valley it has a leaking roof and has been waiting just for you.