#2018 - at my own pace

 

2018

6.192

11.vii.25

at my own pace

on foot to Kingussie

 

receiving what’s sunshine

attempting thoughtless

 

to make my own rhythm

 

will the world keep up?

 

luck spending

a way and wherever

 

aimless as able

 

under the map and by beech leaf turn

(that’s just to show a breeze)

 

village edge bleat

 

under my own steam

to the squirrel hill come

 

here’s highland lumber of the sheepdog cow

cloud of flies up close

 

and there’s the path’s dead rabbit

 

distance is the town

 

as flightless as the next I am

 

propelled by just the occasional fart

 

it’s not shoe leather anymore

it’s some petro-carbon these days

 

with just some hills for company

just some floating clouds

 

as if by the book

 

it’s at my own pace

the craft with which I go