Homeward Bound*

I’m going home tomorrow by the cold grey light of dawn. On my motorbike tomorrow if I can beat the stirring storm. Down cold long straights of asphalt until mystique mountain pass. I’m going home tomorrow I’m homeward bound a last. The wind! It whistles through me icicle stabbing chilling cords it plays along sprung spine. Cheeks like glazed ice nose numb and blue from frigid mountain air. Crisp and fresh this morning this newborn winter’s day. The stillness frozen to a depth beyond mute ear. Swerving round razored corners leaning into wicked bends picking off cramped cars I’m glad that I’m not in. Ice on the road now black ice up ahead just one mistake now and I could be dead. Riding on my luck steadily slowing down it’s my experiential skill alone that kept me off cruel ground. A hawk soars above me she guides me on my way white clouds puffed around her in honour of this day. The white lines race toward me the fence posts flash on past the crunch of gravel under tyres I’m homeward bound at last.