You pass the barn on one of your jaunts
through strange countryside.
“Where did you go?” they ask.
“I have no idea.” you answer.
You have become comfortable being lost.
All roads lead somewhere.
Everywhere there are places of beauty,
odd cafés to sip coffee or wine
and feed you. Somehow, everywhere you go
sustains you. Somehow
being lost has expanded your world.
The best things often happen there,
in the land of the lost. And if they do not,
no matter. There are new things to learn,
new landscapes, new songs, new food
for the soul.
And so you travel. Past barns and cities
and lost places. Lost yourself, you wait
even as you travel, for the roads to take you
to a place you recognize.
They always do.
About this poem
I used to think being lost was a bad thing. I see it differently now. It’s just part of the journey.
A poem built on an afternoon spent “convertabling” yesterday afternoon, wandering the countryside with my camera, and a conversation with strangers at my favorite diner this morning.
Inspiration is everywhere.
PS – the picture was taken yesterday while convertabling. It is somewhere in upstate New York. Don’t ask me where. I was lost.