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I slow down

In search of my pencil cap

I hear the singular warbler

I hear

And then see

Another aeroplane

I hear

But don’t see

The cars on the coast road

This is a well trod path

One day a little child

May come across my pencil cap

And may ask its parents

What sort of person

Might have left this here

The child’s parent

If mindful, and imaginative

May tell a story

Of the old man, from far away

Who came here one day in winter

To write, and take photographs

In his excitement, also due to

His inability to do two things at once

He lost the pencil cap

And no matter how slowly

He walked the muddy path

The cap was not found, until today