Lost! (Poetry Monthly??)

or how to add 3 miles to the end of a short walk

Up the ‘Little Mountain’
‘Golden Valley’ aglow below –
rich brown furrows and vibrant green;
we struggle through the copse
along the boundary at the top’s open access area,
looking for the exit gate;
seems a little further than expected
leads out on an old broken down lane
(map indicates field first?)
Soon the lane improves, and down , down to
a T-junction (this isn’t on the map??)
My husband has gone ahead to get the car,
but eventually comes back around the bend:
‘I’m lost!’ ‘So am I!’
We open the map out properly,
get the grid reference off the tablet:
‘How can we be there?’
‘Oh, look! there was another exit, just further’
We’ve veered south, not east.
‘Do we go back and hope to find the other one?’
‘I think it was that “Private no access now” gate’
‘or work back through the copse’
‘or go the one and a half miles down this road to the village
and then the same up to the car’ ‘Better had’.

It’s 4.30 – our sitting service
ends at 6. Would the sitter answer the phone
if it rings at our end of the house
to tell her Mum-in-law’s alright left for a few minutes
if we’re late?
‘We gave her our mobile number but didn’t ask for hers!
have we brought the office mobile number?’

He races on, boots and all,
I plod, carrying the binoculars.
Commit the situation to God and walk, walk, walk.
These country roads do seem to go on and on.
Walk, walk … beautiful sunny views,
Walk walk … if he goes twice as fast as me
we should (maybe) meet at the village.
Walk, walk, … Has he got the camera?
Better not delay him by phoning
(Oh, no mobile signal anyway)
Up and down, round another bend,
no sign of the end still …
occasional cars pass (didn’t really think it could be him yet!)
walk, walk … that must be the village over there
‘Dare I stop and photo the crop poking through the brown soil?’
Oh, here he is – a sweaty driver!’

With careful driving through the village,
up over the hill, narrow lane
and many stops to let cars pass,
over the River Wye, and the roads
get wider as we cruise eastwards
– arrive thankfully at 5.45!

My muscles didn't ache the next day!

[ Poetry Monthly: Roads]