The road over this blasted heath
The route across the windswept hill
at the edge of the east,
Has been a place of peace
A kind of pilgrimage for me.
Once in bitter cold
Snow devils dancing
‘cross the road
Once in crisp autumnal airs.
I even saw a dust of freshly settled snow
With car tracks through.
But today: a rain-filled murky dusk.
Water pouring over tarmac
Wind soughing over the roof of the car
The wiper’s wup-wup only adds
To the deepest sense of peace.
Here one talks with the Most High
Like he was sat in the passenger seat
Listening to what I say,
Nodding sagely, making mental note,
To fix this situation, bless that person.
I am, He says, the God who hears.