Godfrey believed in his life’s journey on, the tracks and trails where the vagabonds go. Someday he would reach the road where he would leave his soul.
He had stood in awe along the big lonely, hitched the hot, dusty outback-only, the empty, the nasty, the frozen snow swept. He recalled such thirst he drank where the sheep did. In hay pile or behind high-way billboard he had slept.
Godfrey sang this day, as hummed his bike tires, pedaling north on Poet’s Road…And possibly if one should journey there today,in fast car now on modern motor-way. You may catch a distant glimpse of him. In patchy sunlight down the unpaved track.
On the porch of an old house, set well back, from the road in a paddock. Having tea or a beer, in quiet company sits Godfrey. With friends he met on Poet’s Road. Like the kids who dove from horse-back. Bonny, laughing faces brown, into crystal clean ocean. Folks wave to him Sunday mornings, passing through the quiet, tiny coastal town.
Alone in remote bays of blinding white squeaky sand he camped. Surf casting, swimming at dawn. A piece of sea polished jade, Godfrey carried it with him as he carried all his life, the memories he made, on the long Poet’s Road.
You may catch a glimpse of him, for the way is slow going, narrow and rutted, deep sand on each steep bend. He had never walked or cycled a rougher road than this, to reach Cape Reinga Lighthouse at the end.
He walked that grassy path, sat on the cliff edge and wrote to me. On the stormy side Godfrey sat, looking out at the Tasman Sea. He wrote- “When I head south the beach is very long, the sand at low tide firm enough for me to ride along”. I can hear the music in the wind, there is light here but also deep, dark mystery. On the rim of the world, there is no end to Poet’s Road…
. I will write again soon and you to me, dear friend, thank you, thank you from Godfrey.