the way home

The Way Home

I could see my home it was afar but the landscape
was flat, in front of me a thousand of sand dunes
with silvery grass, that had to be crossed; when
the wind blew it looked like a petrified sea forever
going westward. I was on an unpaved wide road
used by everyone, walkers, cars, dogs, cats, tractors
and cyclists, here even the blind could walk without
fear, a highway of humanity unregulated by traffic
experts, but, alas, they were not going my way

Climbing each wave was hard work and I was tired
when reaching shore a landscape of rich soil and
endless potato fields and one flat boulder I climbed
to get my bearing, I couldn’t see my home , not any
home for that matter, but did see smoke far away at
the edge of the horizon. Exhausted I rolled out my
sleeping bag, I still had miles to walk, but it didn’t
worry me, now that I could boil, fry or bake delicious
tubers, there was no hurry getting home anymore.