It’s all in there, everything you need
to survive in the wilderness.
Check that the zips are closed,
the straps tightened round shoulders;
feel its blue comfort clasping
chest and waist, weight
pulling you to the firm earth,
freeing you for the distant hills.
Forty litres is more than enough,
a Santa Claus black hole of a sack,
swallowing Goretex, sarnies, water,
Swiss Army knife for horses’ hooves,
plasters and toilet paper for emergencies.
Poles in hand, a mindless rhythm
in my legs, I take myself for a walk.
Quasimodo knew the feeling.
Despite his burden, he danced
in the air, astounded
by the glory around him,
before releasing the straps