One for the Road

The dusty season’s started. On the road
the sunbeams show in stripes of dancing light
that slant across the treetops. Far ahead

a vague, familiar shape awaits you, still,
unhurried, almost merging with these slow,
slow hours when the birds do not yet feel

like getting on, and insects sing their straight,
sweet tones; a lazy morning. Sitting down
upon the steps you lace your boots to get

out in the light. You give the silent house
a last once-over, one last, heady draught
of warring memories to speed you on

your pilgrimage into the dim unknown,
and raise your hand. The distance beckons you;
you sigh and nod, and walk into the blue.