Before the arch that lead
to art college
the walls were a channel,
footsteps were drawn out days
that made their way to learn;
another brief home
till late in the afternoon.
In mornings the sky was keen,
overhangng trees chattered
of theories slipped from mouths
that couldn’t hold back,
ideas formed around breakfast.
But the early hour walk
before classes began
was the real starting line,
an entrance into a discovery
slightly beyond reach,
thoughts carried in a backpack
with each stride,
though I grasped enough
to mould them;
never a clay sculpture like that.
To realise the power of knowledge
and how it aids creation,
it was some two miles to walk,
plenty of split stones before me
and plenty of opportunity to think.
* About my time at Stafford art college and the walk
I made everyday to get there.
