The Traveller

14 more sleeps.

Exciting. Daunting.

It’s like being a piece of elastic —- pulled to travel yet the other end is so firmly rooted.

You feel so fond of the things you’re going to leave … the dogs trigger a heartfelt affection; those friends you love to hate, and love again – they seem to be irreplaceable beacons of refuge and succour.


When will you laugh again, like that? Will you? Ever?

Your heart softens to coddle the memory of them, the pictures of separate lives entwined, Rewind to remember.

But it’s not that time now.

No. You’re going forward.

Sorting, shedding, shredding.

You aim to travel light, to live light, to breathe light.

Baggage is a bugger. You want none of it!

Out go the black bags, lots of them.

They’re full of nothing you want with you; they burst with emptiness; they fly away on the wings of no regrets.

And you watch. You see yourself, transparent. Diaphanous. Content. Focused.

You’re so comfy in your boots, they’re like no boots at all.







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