The Road Up
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The Road Up
The road up
hugs the side of a hill
and steep slopes fall
into dark gullies far below.
In places, tree trunks still wear
the blackened scars of past fires.
Further up, you enter a long archway
of shade, trees are taller and tower
in full height above the road -
ferns wave their extended fronds
as you pass - long ribbons of bark
hang down through the low cloud.
The air is damp and cold
with high country breath.
You stop, leave the car and walk
a little way into the forest.
All is quiet except for muted
forest sounds playing out
in a soft chorus on the edges
of your hearing. There are times
when you feel a sense of arrival,
that all the pathways
of your life have led to here.
No grand finale waits to mark
the moment, just an indifference
as if you were only ever a part
of a greater whole, the realisation
that you are not alone
but lost sometimes
in one of the many rooms
of your home.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2025
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