The Fields of Trance

Morning chill.
Light mist in my mind.
Fields of softened edges.
Steady footsteps through
tranquil awakening.
Golden orb burning
through consciousness.
Glistening harvest.
Steady walking. Lulling.
Beckoning. Crush underfoot.
Warming rays.
Breathing silence.
Time melts.
Evaporating thoughts
lost in numbing march.
Floating. Legs disappear.
Legstasy.
Trancing through sunlit clouds of gold.
Via trancigena.

Another poem I wrote on Day 25 walking along the Canal Lateral de la Marne on our pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It is about walking early in the chilly morning along the ancient Via Francigena pilgrimage route in France when there is a blanket of mist. It is how when I ‘find my legs’ and get into a steady rhythm I can operate on ‘automatic pilot’.

It is about the feeling of losing oneself in the landscape, the present, the ecstasy of being, before the heat of the day, pain and fatigue gradually set in.