the path goes upwards
from the wooden bus stop
the space to the right
the hills behind the ponds
we go slow
the path goes into
the pinewood downwards
a deer sometimes
the crossroads insignificant
we speed up
having bathed in the lake
we go back by bus
to the garden green
to the summer peak
the next day will be the same
the next and the next
out of school and time
until September strikes
there is a hillock
near the lake untrampled
the shore underneath
the cones in the dark sand
we sit still
25/10/2001
