Archives stacked and indexed neat,
For reminisces at noon and winter,
Cuds of times that never were,
Words spoken, silence out of turn.
Many forks on dark, deserted roads
Passing lights too fickle to anchor,
Steering to eye, without feel of feet,
‘Evade bumps than keep to map’.
Alien routes, strangers in new land,
Drizzle to rain, all huddled together,
Some came for breath and sweat,
Some came for a hitch and a ride.
Those souvenirs of expeditions past,
Dusty, once shone, brought smiles,
Beer Mugs, Laughing Buddha, Rings,
Go to bin; light bag for ageing back.
Mists retreat, warm feet restless,
Enticing paths circling forest hill,
Pacing to smell grass under trees,
And listen to songs of birds above.
(2012)