The Walkers

The walkers come in all shapes and sizes
From all over the world
With their colonial accent
They gawk at our sheep, at our hills
Deem everything magnificent and oh so British!

The walkers cross the road like children
Check for cars to the right
To the left, again and again
Before launching themselves
With high cries and panicky eyes

They accuse us of letting dogs and children drive
They look at the passenger side all the while
With utter disbelief in their eyes
We laugh at their antics
But never to their face

The walkers come in droves
The adventurous and the organized
The planners and the ones looking for meaning in their lives
They take selfies, they take over our pubs
Their money flows like water

The walkers sport their dirty boots like badges
Trading routes and comments with fellow walkers
They share a common sentimentalism
About the English countryside
Romanticism made dirt

They trudge up and down hills
Through dung-filled pastures
With bleating sheep
Annoyed at the intruders and vigilant
Lest they steal one in the herd

They can go for days under the rain
When at home they would hop in a car
They relish the fresh air and the Facebook posts
And the boasts that come with their feat
A hundred km in ten days

The walkers are quaint and part of the scenery
We humour them but don’t join in
We’d rather walk our dogs or ride our horses
Than follow the fools in all weather
And visit sham villages – the old made new

One thought on “The Walkers

  1. Leanne Rivest says:

    You’ve done such a great job of capturing the ‘feel’ of the place; it’s not easy to do!! Great creativity, Pascale. I’m impressed, as always 😉

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