Wandering about in the lanes of my childhood.

Dusty. Tree lined.

The lanes are heart achingly familiar

But in the map of my memory there isn’t a single noisy bus, train or car ….

I look away from the traffic and from the noise

I focus on the lay of the land

And upon the prints my feet are making

Among the yellow ochre leaves on the sand

The trees are silent and hushed

Like time has stopped around them

And the tangled roots strewn around

Are like the veins on the back of my hand,

Everything has changed.

The landscape has altered permanently

But somewhere in the roots of the ancient trees

There nestles a part of me.