A small poem upon pondering a future journey.

The Brook

Caught between the pages of a handcrafted journal,
One that has traveled so far from Orcas Island in the East Pacific,
Here to be in my hands on this journey as I unbind the leather strap,
Holding its contents closed, I turn past the opening end page,
Until I run my fingers down the presenting blank parchment,
In word, how do I start, Perhaps, maybe this,
I landed in London today, in a faraway land for the first time,
Though I could not wait, having lived so far south,
The urge to navigate North, it became overwhelming,
Not one to dwell in the urban too long. I set out,
Out on my way to the lands of my name sake,
Before heading further North, as far as is possible on foot
Then to take a slow turn back to the South-West,
I wonder if I can get myself lost somewhere along the way
Or meet a friend or two to share a few of the footsteps, or,
Perhaps the occasional alternative transport when required,
To travel on waters colder than those of the tropics,
Across traverse each island of the isles, to ramble along,
Their rivers, watercourses, moors, ranges, and highlands,
Sort be lost in each moment without being found,
Sharing in conversations, companions, each foot to the ground,
The miles, the miles, the many miles of isle,
Caught, caught between the pages, like a map upon rag-paper..

4 responses to “Caught

    • Just a poem of a potential future bit of travel. I actually bought a couple of handcrafted journals from a master bookbinder on Orcas Island as gifts to give to a couple of travelers. The poem is me dreaming of acquiring one for myself, and journeying from the far south to a vastly different north. So not on the Isle of Great Britain, and others at the moment, still in the southland.

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