A Pathway grown of bladed green

curves its way on ridge-line rise,

saddling Chalk-Hills in between

Its furthest vista melts to sky.

 

One foot before the other falls,

a sturdy stick to bear me straight,

the distant sounds, a City calls, 

To spur my step lest I be late.

 

The yearning skyline, clawing high,

brick on brick and life on life,

Climbing upward from the why

No answers there to ease my strife.

 

As if to snub the goading sight

I slow my pace and breathe the air,

at once to know my mind is right

To be just here and not be there.