On the coldest of days, leeing through frozen forest and down to the levées to go with the flow.
The therapy of drifiting.
Aimless and pointless driving across a skeletal winter forest
On lonely roads down to a mighty river.
Collar pulled up against the bitter wind,
Hands thrust deep down into pockets,
Cigarette stuck to my lips
I hungrily and eagerly breathe it down in huge, satisfying gulps as if it were my last,
As if I were a condemned man
What you might think is the silence of solitude
Is a mad rumbling white water river rush
With crashing tree trunks and boulders.
Wandering along the banks
The grass verges are crisp with frost and the skies are endless, ice cold blue.
It is an invigorating wind bite, sub zero sunshine winter’s morning.
If I were to start something new,
Some river-purged departure,
I would do it here and now,
Staring at the mighty flow as it crashes its way to an invetiable destiny.
I have lost count of the number of times I have stood here as a lost soul,
Promising to start all over again,
Only to return home and carry on being who,I am and what I am.
But, if I changed,
I might never run away to this place ever again.
I like running away. That is how I am, and this is the place I always run to.
If I was going to end anything,
I’d do it here.
One day, on a bleak cold winter’s day like today.
A condemned man,
Frozen to the core,
Beaten by the winds
On the banks of the mighty river, flowing fast to its inescapable destiny.
When that very same destiny befalls me,
I’d like to be here.