Walking, always walking,
Following the fence to wherever it may lead me.
The white lines are stark against the forest,
Which is green and brown and red with fall.
They flow forward endlessly, on and on into the distance.
So on I walk, forever moving forward.
They ask me where I’m going;
I say I don’t know,
And they decide I must be lost.
I’m not though.
I know where I am, and I know where I’ve been,
But I have no destination,
And that’s what they can’t see.
Because today I’m following the fence,
Though I don’t know where it leads,
But yesterday I followed a road,
Which would have led to the sea,
If I’d followed it a little further.
I’ve seen the sea before though,
A hundred times I’ve seen the sea,
And I’ve followed the currents across it,
As I follow the fence now.
I have no destination, only a wish.
I wish to see,
To see everything,
All across the world.
There’s so much beauty,
And it’s waiting for me.
So how could I settle for any one place,
Knowing how many others are waiting to be seen?
I am a wanderer, they say,
A drifter, a tourist, a traveler,
A vagrant, a nomad, a vagabond,
And many other things besides.
Maybe they’re right.
I call no one place home,
And I seldom return to the places I’ve been,
And I’ll admit it might be odd,
To follow an endless fence
To an unknown destination.
But I don’t mind.
I may be all of the things they call me,
But there’s one thing I am not,
And that is unhappy.
I have never been sad over my lot in life,
Nor am I ever sick of what surrounds me.
I have never spent a day feeling melancholy,
So is it really so bad,
To suffer from a simple case of wanderlust?