How I got here.

By way of star paths and synapses, convoy routes
and Miller Dale. Three days late for my own birth.
Motoring down the A38, feasting on ghosts
in the Babbacombe woods.
Falling backwards, falling in love,
disco dancing in the Salutation in Attercliffe after dark.
Harnessed deep within a glacial crevasse,
blown into Edinburgh on an August storm.
Catching myself one day in the rear-view mirror,
feeling like a stranger in my own life.
Walking over Wideopen Hill with you
and into the oak-panelled room towards the Registrar.
Here now, a child reading a child to sleep,
a dog at my feet, casting at the stars.

Copyright   Jane Aldous

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