We walk, we talk…

We walk, we talk…

The landscape of our life together
is criss-crossed with the walks that we have done.
Often we choose a different route,
and open up a new perspective
on the country around our home.
But each time I sing the same refrain:
we walk, we talk, I fall in love again.

Here, from the busy A65, the footpath sign
takes us into solitude and quiet fields;
the traffic fades, and stiles appear;
in warm autumn sunshine we turn on to
an old track, now not much used;
the brambles catch at us, their late fruit is plain;
we walk, we talk, I fall in love again.

Bullocks stand beside the fence, curious;
you enjoy their fluffy coats, and the one with huge ears;
you make friends, but your heart knows their fate;
they do not know, they do not complain;
we walk, we talk, I fall in love again.

By an old stone field barn, the map marks ‘well’;
we look and do not find it, but I persist;
round the back, sparkling, gurgling quietly,
clear water emerges beneath a wall,
a marvellous sight to nourish and sustain;
we walk, we talk, I fall in love again.

A detour across two fields takes us to a Roman road;
a line on the map, a raised line in the field;
your happiness grows as we approach;
we hop across the straight stream close by,
and discuss Roman soldiers, and Roman surveyors
settling the route through difficult terrain;
we walk, we talk, I fall in love again.

A farm to be bypassed, a muck pile negotiated,
chained dogs noticed, as they notice us;
we cross the main road, and joy for you,
the stone steps you have seen from the car
for twenty-five years are finally trodden;
more paths and little roads take us back to the start;
some memories fade, and some remain;
for me, we walked, we talked, I fell in love again.

This entry was posted in from still or storm collection. Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.