Being

Grey tarmac, the open road.

 

Green foliage, a stream of wind roars

 

In my ears and

 

Villages pass me by, one hut

 

At a time. Children stare

 

In frank curiosity, others more

 

Circumspect. Now open plains and

 

Now steep wooded curves. Dark

 

And overcast. Rain overhead and

 

Darker horizons. The silent coast;

 

Quieter hinterland. Border check posts;

 

free highways. Old trucks;

 

New cars. A solitary bike - mine. A smile.

 

Aching shoulders and weary knees. Bloodshot

 

Eyes and grimy face. Tired body and

 

Refreshed mind. Incomplete odometer;

 

Yearning for home. Happiness.

 

Grey tarmac, the open road