Come if you will, come with me
and let us call out to nature
for our new beginning.
Let us walk carefully so we do
not step on the ants and crawling things
that live amongst the gravel until
we are at the crest of the big high hill
in the park.
Let us stretch our arms wide at the
edge of the drop and
turn our palms up towards the
blue sky so they catch the weight
of the sunshine and head back, eyes shut,
allow the beams to drip between our fingers.
Let the ancient soul trapped
within us scramble to the surface
and escape through our mouths
as we call out an old wordless song
to the valley and the little rivers below.
We shall feel the warm wind gently
tug at our hair and flick our collars
about us and mingle with our calling
voices so they are borne like kites
made of sound to the sheep in the far
fields and the dog-walking people who
lumber their sticks in arcs to their
lolloping furry companions.
In that moment we must close our eyes
tighter so we can let the glory of this
simple pleasure flush out the modernity
of us until we are once again
cavemen at Piltdown, hunters in the
rainforest and dust-covered people
who dig honey from bee’s nests with
a pointed stick.