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While walking in the woods near my house,
I came upon a lost glove-
it was just sitting there undisturbed and unmoved
on a bush at the foot of a tree;
a lone glove, which I couldn’t tell
if it was intended to be worn on the left hand or on the right;
a lone glove that for some reason had been parted from its pairing,
which lay as if it had fallen from above,
instantly intrigued me, made me smile, and made me wonder
what and who had brought it here to the middle of the forrest
only to leave it- something just didn’t seem right.

Every time I returned to my favourite place to walk,
to think, and to marvel at Mother Nature,
I always made a point to go to where I knew the multi-coloured
and multi-patterned glove continued to lie;
for weeks, months, maybe,
I returned and to my delight the glove remained where it always was-
it always brightened my day to see it, for some reason-
maybe it was the randomness of the sight of a lone glove, a lost glove,
far-away from the hand of anyone, that amused me,
and also inspired me in some way.

One day, I returned to the woods,
I took the same path that I always take-
I walked and I looked in anticipation of seeing the lost glove,
but it was nowhere to be seen-
I walked the same path again and again, over and over,
but all I saw in the place that I remembered it being
was just a multitude of growing green.
The first time I saw the glove,
I had thought that its sudden appearance
and consequent reappearances were a sign, an insight,
an easter-egg into the inner-workings of chaos,
nature, choice, subtlety, fun;
and when I realised that the glove was gone-
it had been picked up by someone else,
reclaimed by its former owner,
or it had been taken by an animal-
I felt genuinely sad;
but every time I walk passed where it was, even now,
I wonder where it came from.

The glove that was once lost was found by me.
I did not take it, I did not claim it,
but for a short-time it was a talisman to me,
a charm of life that I was always pleased to see,
a seed of joy, a flower of hope that grows in my imagination,
which I am in-awe of;
and that is why I will never forget the autumn days
of the lost glove.

The charm of life is that nothing is ever truly forgotten-
the consciousness of the world has a memory of its own
that is as rich and long-lasting as cotton.
Charm comes in many forms, captivation can originate from a single spark;
the avatar of the inspired can be as subtle as a whisper, a look,
or the way they make their mark.
There are charmers of the world from all walks of life,
be they a poet, a gardener, a teacher, an idol, or a housewife-
someone who when they enter view dazzles the senses and the mind,
someone who puts a smile on your face just because of who they are,
and the manner in which they are refined.
Many of those who cast a spell are not aware that they emanate such charm,
many of those who enamor with ease don’t know that they carry such grace,
or personify such calm.
Of course there are those who know that they are special,
and that their words and their demeanor mean more to others than anything-
a paragon of the times that they live in,
the sound and the resonation of the instrument of the days string.
The great charm of the charmers is that they give a positive bearing
as to the direction that people might choose to point their compass;
a road of optimism, hope, confidence, and belief, that only we ourselves
can build before us.

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