Heading Out

Beyond here there's no map.
How you get there is where
you'll arrive; how, dawn by
dawn, you can see your way
clear: in ponds, sky, just as 
woods you walk through give 
to fields. And river: beyond
all burning, you'll cross on bridges
you've long lugged with you.
Whatever your route, go lightly,
toward light. Once your give away
all save necessity, all's
mostly well: what you used to
believe you owned is nothing,
nothing besides how you've come
to feel. You've no need now
to give in or give out: the way
you're going your body seems
willing. Slowly as it may
otherwise tell you, whatever 
it comes to you're bound to know.


Heading Out, by Phillip Booth


I knew that, waiting for me at the end of a long, tiring day at work, there was one last slice of warm strawberry rhubarb pie with a large dollop of vanilla ice cream on top. 

It was every bit as satisfying as I imagined it would be.