Afoot

Afoot

Upon the winding lane I tread,
My soles kiss the damp‑kissed earth,
Each step a quiet hymn to the hedgerow’s breath,
A pilgrimage of simple worth.

The pavement glistens after rain,
Pebbles glint like tiny seas,
While blackbirds stitch their sable thread
Through hawthorn thickets, slow and free.

I hear the distant low of cattle,
The creak of a gate on rusted hinge,
The rustle of leaves in whispered gossip,
All speaking in a dialect of breeze.

No engine’s growl, no metal’s whine,
Just rhythm forged by heel and toe,
A cadence that the old stones know—
Afoot, the world unfolds in gentle flow.

So let the miles unwind like thread,
Each footprint‑story softly penned,
For when I walk, I am not led—
I am the journey, and the path, my friend.