I haven’t walked this way home in a long time.
But then I suppose I am never coming from this direction.
It’s early evening, and although it’s still light, there is a grey cloud overhead. It’s raining and there is a bit of wind.

As I turn the corner I quicken my step and turn off my music.
While I don’t mind it in the daytime, I’m a little wary of this bit as its darkening.
I am mostly out of eyesight and ear shot.
But it’s only a short walk.

I look left onto the racecourse.
Through the small gaps in the fence and hedges.
There is one guy flying a kite,
And a few lads playing football, shouting and laughing to each other.

I can see them, but I don’t think they can see me.

I near the end of the walkway.
It is clearer then it used to be.
They have cut down most of the trees to make way for the new riverside path.
Poor trees.
- Dead and gone.

I walk up the wooden steps.
I surprised they are still standing strong.
They look the same but don’t feel as weak and creaky as they used to be.

I walk along the wooden bridge path, next to the railway line.
The rain seems to be lightening up a bit.
I look down at the wooden slates as I walk,
Watching for it…

Although I know I am not near it yet.
I think perhaps I may not be able to see it in the rain.
I slow down as I start to near where I think it is –
- I stop
- I look down
And there it is.
The letters carved into the wood


F . . . . i . . . . t . . . . z


What was it we would talk about…?