The Open Road

Open Road

On this wide, demanding stretch we walk, and walk.
Attempts to hitch a ride futile, and for that, prohibited
Along this artery heading to Sezanne from Paris.
Sore feet, three sets aching and sore
Then chilly September night shrouds us as we settle in
Under the concrete bridge that echoes and exacerbates the rolling lorries
That disturb attempted sleep on this wide, unforgiving highway.


Daylight and we walk with exhausted eyes, but our relentless feet
Are resilient, defying pain, supported by hardened slog
And a beautiful bus at the end of this stretch
Shuttles us three in glory along feasts of scene
As glorious warm sun beats through glass on our faces
And I dream of croissants, and wine and a bed.

Hot soaking showers, and blisters then bliss
Then views at sunset, follow sleep at this two dime hotel
That speaks indulgence for the food it supplies.
And the planning commences for more open road
To Champagne and beyond, I think sipping my wine
In a café somewhere viewing stretches of pine scented paths
That twist and turn through early autumn days.