Mâlain Diaries 12

Mâlain Diaries 12

It was down a path I didn’t expect to go.

‘Inderdit,’  the GPS broadcast,

  the SatNav objecting to leaving the

long black procession,

paved and sanctioned

by well-meaning government

officials in

bright yellow vests with

cattle pens.

‘Recalculating,’ some long-

latent voice said.

And I left the cool, dark interior

of the car to

walk.

Feet down a path I didn’t

expect to go,

down a human laneway,

through tender woods with little

trails looping like the ends of

soft curls dropped

   after a first hair cut.

I walked where I didn’t

know the ending,

expectant in flight and

     joy

 as my ancient innerNat

led to tiny winter berries

yellow lilies opening

themselves to a

cavern beyond.

A meteor fell here thousands

of years ago,

     where the path

completed its tour:

  hot sun and Gargantua’s trou, filled

by

cool, deep water,

and silence.

Not fed by any stream,

   nor city piscine,

it lies here alone

in wait,

desireous

  in dépayser

the path I didn’t expect to go.