the day I arrive

is overcast and dry,

late July.

I carry my roots in a plant pot.

tender, tendrils frayed, 

unearthed from a ground

that could not nurture me. 

I hold them close,

in search of a place to call home.

and so begins my pilgrimage

through the South Downs Way.

*

first stop, Devil’s Dyke,

The Valley.

its mouth open wide,

I enter the middle path

straight into its depths.

here,

a strange safety arises.

inside your tall green walls,

I am held.

like a small seed,

I have resolve

to fill the space,

grow into something great.

the ground beneath me speaks:

follow the path,

home is made

where love can grow. 

feeling you by my side, now,

I pick up the pace.

*

soon enough, 

I pass the first threshold: a gate opened,

a path up. 

trees shelter me as I race up the steps,

no pause for breath.

and then: a clearing in the sky, 

clouds dissolve into bursts of blue, 

a magnificent landscape of valleys and hills

ebbs and flows into view. 

on top of the world, and yet,

an insignificant speck 

from your perspective. 

but still, I am held

like one of your own,

hands and feet intertwined

in soft grass,

so I set down the plant pot,

reach for my roots,

and I make home.