Strolling

The Stroll Walking along a long road in a 1950ish industrial park high walls and closed down factories; dark brown, And no green weeds in pavement cracks. At the docks all ships had left, cranes stood in silence each one ensconced in the terrifying loneliness of the soulless that knows of no existence. I found the office I was looking for, needed someone to stamp a document, it was empty I waited till light faded from pictures of stern-faced men on photos on walls. This place had no real sunshine; a haze hung over here making summers a pale affair, only in August did sun penetrate drowning shadows in a white unpleasant light. Outside, in the street going south, there were many me, young ones, middle aged and some were even older than I, which I thought was a good sign and secretly smile For a moment I felt nostalgic wanted to look back, but desisted we had, all of us, agreed that we must walk on Never look back as the past holds a fatal attraction. sooner or later the road must end and open up to a vista of olive and almond trees, lemon coloured straw, faraway blue mountains and pastel painted summers.