I used to worry you would tire of the scenery

The same hills



A landscape undergoing seasons that change inexplicably

And yet remain the same

A few wildflowers in spring

Ribs showing through a lack of rain

Returning again and again

Along a gradually eroding path

Skimming an outline that is not meant to last

Yet it does

Through famine, fast, different diets, exercise regimes

Stripes, bruises, cuts, contusions

Communions with the moon

Year after year

We go on

Travelling where we have gone

So many times before

And still

Your eyes crinkle at the edges, sparkle in response

To my lifted brows and smiling dimples

Telling me


It’s simple

A man never tires

Of returning home

Where he is loved

9 thoughts on “Returning

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