DRIVING TOWARDS
LINDISFARNE
That's my overcoat on the back seat - it's filled
with wisdom and good intentions, but the weather
has simply not changed enough yet for me to put it
on. I'll swagger instead - through the chilly mornings
and forget the rest. By noon it's eighty degrees once more.
There's no logic to the logic of trying to beat the weather.
-
Nonetheless, I am racing towards the coast; watching the
slide of the land downward, as I approach those little
islands just alee. There's no manner of thought put into
this vessel Land or sea, I seek enlightenment at Holy Island.
-
My generation is as bold as nothing - my genuflection
staggers. Everyone's grown old and stupid, worshipping the
past and strapping the future with the same idiot stuff. As
if looking in from a streetside window, some proclaim
indulgence and others claim to know it all - leave notes
behind, show traces of being. Here is my trek : that
Holy Island of Lindisfarne calls.
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