I’m just back in from my morning run.
Before I left she asked me how far I was planning to go,
And I replied: “Only about 3 miles, maybe thirty minutes or so”.
I showed her my intended route on the map,
So that in an emergency she could find me in a hurry.

As soon as I was outside, my mind was transported.
There were poppies and other wildflowers in the hay fields, faces turned to greet the morning sun.
I ran through swathes of wheat and barley waving in the breeze,
Reed beds down by the fen and woods with birds singing merrily in the trees.

But I had been far too optimistic and so I found I made several false turns,
Finding my way blocked, not wanting to squeeze my way through tick-infested ferns.
At one point I had to whisper my way past a group of young cattle
That barred my path, even nibbling at my shorts and, fortunately, that encounter did not end up as a battle.

Some people might laugh at my incompetence, but I have to disagree, because:

I was not lost,
Although I will reluctantly admit that I did not know exactly where I was.
But I don’t think it really mattered that I wasn’t quite where I’d expected myself to be.

Anyway, I’m back now,
And as soon as I came through the door I said “sorry”, because I didn’t want the atmosphere to sour.
You see, I had run five-point-four miles and been out for almost an hour,
And although she didn’t say anything, if past form is anything to go by,
I expect that she had started to worry.

My run gave me a chance to think, and realise that, even though things didn’t go entirely to plan:

I am not lost.
In fact I happily accept that I do not know exactly where I am,
Because it really doesn’t matter that I am not where I expect myself to be.

(c) Tim O’Hare, July 2023

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About this poem: We moved base for the second week of our summer holiday and after a few less than successful days in Horning in the Norfolk Broads we moved to the village of Redgrave in Suffolk and I instantly relaxed and was happy with walks and runs from the doorstep. For my first morning run there I decided to do a loop of Redgrave and Lopham Fen, memorised a route (or at least thought I had memorised a route) and set out. It was a very enjoyable run but, predictably, I dropped off my planned route and had to use my instinct to find my way back to our accommodation running further and taking a fair bit longer than I had planned. I was not exactly lost, but I did not know exactly where I was and as I was running those words began to play in my mind and the seeds of the poem were sown.