There is that road again somewhere in Buckinghamshire

I visit it often in my mind

astride the motorbike a resolute companion,

 

we are plunging down

then surging up the hollow

caressing the curves of the road

by the grip of the throttle

to a now forgotten destination

that takes us through a mystery of trees

in a dark unsuspecting wood

and then the open vista,

all this happening under peaks of pleasure

a slow release that I still cherish on the map of memory.