I know every twist and turn
On the road from my grandfather’s house.
He lives at the end of an odyssey,
Across mountain, lake and time.
I climb into the car
And settle into uneven transience
As whispers of whistles echo in my skull.
We become pilgrims, my father and I;
Battling diversions and trains and country lanes.
We carve our path
With hymns and petrol
And the world becomes urgent, blurry.
But when lights jump from green to red
I see patchwork fields sprinkled with livestock
And glowing lilac in the august light.
The moon begins her relentless pursuit
And heavy eyes give way to
The sharp turn nudges me
And leaden eyelids struggle open.
I feel the hump and swell of fresh tarmac
And know that I am home.
Photo by Sam Dineen