The Cusp

The road was long,

And framed in red and gold

The sun not as hot as it was .

School looming on the horizon .

Her house was old, sat nestled in the bosom of the hills.

We would sit on the roof in between the gables,

And talk important nonsense,

While she smoked roll ups.

My house was new,

But filled with old things,

It sat proud and white and weatherboarded half way up the hill.

You could see it from the church.

Our shoes were tattered and covered in mud,

From walking across the fields.

Our hands were stained from picking fruit,

And scratched from the hedgerows

Soon we would leave this place.

These fields would not be walked.

There would be no harvest service.

Christmas would be the time of meeting.

Then we would sit outside our friend’s house,

Ours shawls wrapped round us, and alcohol in hand,

As we spoke of degrees and changing the world,

While she smoked roll ups .

But now,

The road to my house is long,

And framed in red and gold.

It’s the first time I’ve seen this view.

Ive been too busy looking at my feet all these years.

But now we stand at the top of the road,

And live in the golden moment.