I used to hitchhike
the length of this fair land
not much older than a lass
striving to understand
be a bad ***
work out my past
holding out my hand
hoping the wind
the sun
the rain
might erase the scars
release
the pain
many passing cars
from the far north bush
to deep south mountains
icy glaciers
to bush bowl fountains
trying to restitch
parts of me torn
uplift my spirit
leave behind child forlorn
guess I read
too much Kerouac
as a lass
hitting the long roads
with not much more
than my napsack
my pen
my notebook
pastels
artists paper
headstrong
willful
searching for
the next caper
I used to hitchhike
it was safer back then
if rules followed
listen to your gut
spent six hot weeks
in a one room hut
the mighty Hokianga
working the land by light
then writing through dark
by way of kerosene light
bathing naked in the river
in the dusky early morns
escaping
randy bulls
the sting of his horns
I used to hitchhike
not much older than a lass
learning life's lessons
through mother nature's
materclass

J.C. honey-owl 07/08/2019