heading east, we overshoot our turn-off

and end up on an old-fashioned country jaunt

taking in wilmington, alfriston, and the view across cuckmere haven.

we spot a white horse on the hill above litlington

which i discover was cut in 1924;

today it looks all brand new.

i’m writing this with the red pen they gave me at the sanctuary in hastings

turning point, it says on the side.

i keep thinking of the film “perfect days”:

the beautiful apartment, its beautiful exterior,

koji yakusho tending to the baby trees he collects at the buddhist park

and plants in exquisite handmade origami newspaper pots.

since i was sprung from prison

each tiny liberty equals a whole planetful of joy:

crossing the road alone with my mobility aid;

hanging out at the cafe solo.

on my return i meet two tourists

photographing my roof garden. i thank them, and am ambushed by childlike pride:

i made that; i can do that.