PEBBLE PATHS

I navigate the airport exit

in standard hiking gear,

progress to humble streets

that bear her daily print

no matter how often

she dreams of escape.

The narrow staircase tunnels

upwards like a mineshaft

through rough damp stone

to our tiny flat where

a chugging fridge of imports

tries to last the month

and after lockdown restriction

pleasure walks are suspect

for a woman used to journeys

of intent; she tags anyway

surprised to meet a horse,

trek unknown pebble paths

forget the daily hassles.

 

The High Window, Autumn 2024, Editor David Cooke,