Cat-like we weave
around the irksome peat
spongy and moist
like the fudge cake
of sinking sand.

We hoist ourselves
onto the wool packs
to gaze past
the bulging quilted hills
to a sea of
bright sky.

Along the path
the sheep
stoically stare
as we clop and gawk.

We hear the rams
bleating farewell
as we lift our
sore haunches
across the stone stiles.

Cool winds crouch
behind teasing hills
and pounce on our
stiff skin, licking
our weather-whipped
cheeks like
an eager puppy.

Heel to toe our feet
hug the cobblestone
mile after mile.
Mumbled cuss words
and exasperated
breaths fill the
silence of the farmland.

We pass auburn cows
and speckled hens.
They notice us with
little interest as
we continue on to
a smoothly paved track.

Leading us past
graveyards and
rugged campsites.
Trickling through
the village like
a mountain stream.

Stiff, calloused,
and fulfilled.
We have been
to the edge
of our world.