Southwest

The hum and buzz of insects
and the steam rising after rain:
a rill rushes down to the next
- and the next – until
the stream becomes a river.

The cool canopy of black poplars
and the odd eucalyptus
has kept sweat and irritation
at bay, in abeyance,
while the sun goes westward.

I look to the twilight, gloaming
down to darkness, waiting for
the journey to the South West
and home, somewhere
I never thought I’d be.