The Not-Yet

This is the village of the Not-Yet.
I live here now.
Amongst the half-finished statues,
and paths that come and go.

I thought I was just a traveller, passing through.
I smiled briefly and waved at the locals,
Not pausing to really connect.
Why would I? I would be gone from here soon.

I reached the edge of the town, bags in hand,
but couldn’t walk forward.
My destination lay off in the distance,
a speck on a sunburnt horizon. 

I’ve heard so much about it,
I am eager to go there, to arrive,
but I hear the clouds whisper to me,
“This is your home now.”

Bemused, I turn back and pass the same faces again.
I smile sheepishly. 
I hope my smile explains for me
how I didn’t know before that I might stay.

There is a little house not far from the main street.
I am welcomed in. A borrowed space.
I put a few things in the room,
and leave the rest in my bags. I don’t need to unpack.
Why would I? I will be gone from here soon.

The locals are interesting people.
They tell me all sorts of things.
It’s easy to tell how some of them ended up here.
They are dreamers. Too busy dreaming to do what they dreamt up.

Some of them walk in circles.
Every morning they set out, bright and confident,
and ready to complete their journeys.
But before long their shoulders draw down and their feet are heavy.
They do not believe they can go all the way there, so they return to safety before sundown.

Others point their eyes in all the wrong directions.
Side to side, checking, watching, comparing, checking again.
Every step a painstaking procedure riddled with uncertainty.
I wonder if they still know what they came looking for in the first place.

I’ve been steadily working my way around the perimeter of the town.
I know there must be other ways to get to where I’m going.
Some mornings the mouth of a new path welcomes me,
But a few steps in it fades into dust, so I turn back again.

My things are in my room now,
It’s just easier that way.
I haven’t checked the perimeter in a little while.
I’ve been busy, finishing the statues that others left behind.
I thought about starting my own, but then I thought, 
Why would I? I might be gone from here soon.

The town seems to be growing.
My garden is growing too.
I thought everyone would pass through if they could,
Like I wanted to.
But they seem to like to stay.

I have new neighbours.
My garden welcomed them in.
When they came, they asked me to tell them stories
Because I am a local now.

It’s not a bad place.
It’s just not where I planned to be.
Why would I? I could be somewhere else,
Somewhere better.

But instead, I’m in the Not-Yet.
The perimeter hasn’t changed, and now
I’ve run out of statues to finish.
Perhaps I will start my own.