The Smart Fly by Frances Williamson

My father’s first cousin, Frances Williamson is 92 and lives in a long-term care facility in Lindsay, Ontario, Canada. She was born in Omemee, Ontario, Canada in 1917, married at Trinity United Church in 1939, taught piano for 50 years, built a home, operated a marine along with her husband Art called “ArtWill Marine” on the main street of Omemee and became a widow in Omemee in 1985.

Finally, at the age of 89, she had to take up residence in a seniors’ home, but the closest one is in Lindsay, Ontario, Canada.

She says: “I’d much rather be in Omemee, I’d go back in a heartbeat:”

She began writing poetry in the 1980s, never publishing, just creating for family and friends. One of Frances’ poems is called “The Smart Fly”. It displays a thought process that flits from fly to philosophy.

Frances is also penning a memoir. ‘Penning’ is literal because she doesn’t type.

She vividly describes as a child watching from the window of her father’s mercantile store on the main street of Omemee when a farmer pulls up in front with his horse and cart. She recalls the breath visible from the large horse’s nostrils in the cold air while it waits for the farmer to return.

She also writes of the joy of riding in a horse-drawn sleigh and of skating on the pond in Omemee.

While Frances continues to write of the Omemee that once was, readers can enjoy her poetry now. Here, for example, is:

The Smart Fly by Frances Williamson:

We’re the last ones left at the table

Me and my bowl of porridge

Looking up – I see a fly coming toward us

Headed straight for my Red River Cereal

I was sure he would dive right into the bowl

But no – he didn’t. He sat on the rim

Why? I wonder – Why did he not dive in?

I sat there idly studying the fly

Watching as he circled around the rim

And he sits on the rim

My oh My – What a strange little fly

So again I ask myself – Why?

Well I guess if I really want to know why

I’ll have to think like a fly

So I did – think like a fly

The fly still sits on the rim

Looking deep down into the bowl

He’s contemplating

That stuff in the bowl

Looks thick and murky

If I go down there – I’ll get sucked in

Be stuck in the sludge – Not able to budge

What then? I’ll smother and die

Far better for me, if I just sit here on the rim

And only look in

So thought the fly – Smart little guy, that fly

And so it is with people

They stand on the bridge

Looking down at the water

They won’t jump in

For it means sink or swim

So they continue to stand there on the bridge

Just looking in

Did you ever think that a fly

Had any sense – or could reason

I wouldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t seen it

It’s called sensitivity

So I’m told

You have it – I have it – All living beings have it

So now you know why I studied the fly

So now

The big question is

Not

Are you smarter than a 5th grader? ‘

But rather

Are you smarter than a fly?

My oh My!