Still clear, their first steps,
the fields we camped in,
the rained-on holiday lets…
less so the white-lined blur
of car journeys – their songs,
games, laughter, arguments…
their silences that gave way
to sleep, the engine’s drone.
Miles rolled into hours, years.
Between the land and the sea
we were never so near to ‘there’,
so closely strapped in to love
as inside those distances,
a home of sorts, or nearly there.
