​We cross invisible lines – 

Drawn years before, 

As if being pulled, 

By wilder horses, 

Or some cosmic force, 

Towards the place – 

You call home. 

Counties fall behind us, 

And new ones approach, 

Untouched and unclaimed – 

By either you or I –

‘The road rises to meet us,’

An old proverb. I think. 

Kevin Brown © 12.07.2016