Pilgrimage

by Ian Gouge

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We set off before first light

the pre-dawn drive straining the eye.

Assaulted by pulsing headlights, my sight

tried to race ahead, to preview the majesty

of the village beneath the hill,

a return to a bygone age

where we imagined all yet still.

It was a pilgrimage

even if we struggled in the car

and traveling wasted too much of the day.

'That’s just the way things are'

you said. We were about halfway

stopping for lunch at noon

already resigned to return far too soon.