The road stretches lethargically ahead.
The slow undulation through the hills and valleys
calms my urban-infused mind,
shepherding my thoughts, along with the goats,
into the lush green pastures of the expansive foothills.
Stepping away from the machinations of the city,
the grid, the sparks,
the ocean-traffic’s constant crashing waves,
you shed your clockwork yoke,
the tick-tock diarized slots of your weekly agenda,
breathing it all out.
Like the hot warping tar under the constant bombarding of tyres,
Time stretches at the edges.
The people stretch with it,
using the extra moments for a smile, a laugh,
A catch-up with friends,
A play with the children.
I look on, forehead pressed against the glass.
I make up stories of their lives,
their loves, their joys, their pains.
But they’re my stories, not theirs.
The road comes to an end. It always does.
But the journey continues.