Liking Lost

I am enjoying the warmth, the sun and the ambling.

It's hard to amble on a steep mountain in 10 degrees, with a stiff wind and a foot of snow. You can do it but it isn’t ambling.

                       Liking Lost

           Unless I’m making money
                    I like being lost
         and have often found myself
          in wonderful circumstances
           whenever a tiny maelstrom
                 whips up in my mind,
         when a step in any direction
                  is pure guesswork.

         This is when a tickle begins
           somewhere in my noggin
        and an unstoppable silliness
               descends upon me
                and I must wriggle
                   out of my shell,
                suddenly too tight
             and irking all my parts.

            I can touch my toes now
              which can think only of
                skipping in the foam.
          This is the very same foam
               from the same waves 
         that have passed through
   a great sieve, just over the horizon,
                  that filters out all
           the unduly grave matters
          such as pinched eyebrows 
                     and pursed lips.
             I don't miss the sounds
                of tsk-tsk, tut-tut or
                "that will never do."

           With my toes in top form
             and a beach at my feet
              the world is my oyster
                  and what a pearl
                  I shall make of it.