Itchy Feet:

The washed air sparkled in the dead of night
A half moon looked at me and whispered
The melancholic wind tossed the whispered words around
And blew it on my face, unaware of my reaction
I felt the moon’s whisper rather than hear it
Somewhere the hibernating senses rustled
It crawled slowly over my skin
And settled deep in every pore

The moon spoke of a word which smelt of Freedom
Of roads that led to forever
Of frosty mountain air and simmering dessert sun
A rain soaked earth and sun-kissed empty sand
Of freshly cut grass and drying chillies
Of red roses against a white wall
A calling magpie high in the sky
A window looking over a vale
Of playful mist whirling about
A golden sun over a rolling meadow
And of a road that never arrived

The distant horizon is luring
And the feet’s begun to itch
For a journey to forever
And a road that becomes the home