Old Poet, by Norman McCaig

I was confused by the name of this poem until I really sat there and thought about it. I think it’s more of a self-portrait than anything else. Regardless, the imagery immediately conjured (and I’m going to sound like a broken record) a specific tree next to Granny’s Bench overlooking the estuary, in Essex.

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Featured Image: I didn’t have a picture of the tree I was thinking of, but this one cropped up and felt right. I found this once in a clearing of Wivenhoe Woods – I was wandering off the usual paths on a whim. I’ve never found the clearing again, but I suspect that’s just because the trees have grown in around it.