First fifteen you’ve little say, internal geography is laid
By decisions of others the stage is set, a taste for space
Love for mountains, longing for waves. By nature and nurture.
By chance and luck some paths widened, others fade.
Pushed and pulled we grow eager to choose our own hills
Next 10 to 15 a whirl of choices, map alive with
Keys and options, red and blue lines, the rush to see,
To smell, to taste, to touch, to try to understand.
Some paths not taken, others join with ours.
The speed slackens, you lose your focus on the map.
You’re carrying a child and it ‘s biology, not geography
That charts life for 10 or 15 or 20 years that pass.
When you find your mind on the map again
The family pack is breaking up, bit by bit, at varying speeds
In jumps and starts and after another 5 years
You’re down to one or two, with more space and less pace.
It’s time to pause, breathe deep, take in the geography,
Landscapes of chance or choice, time to consider, to choose;
The next 10 to 15, will they be anthropology or biology, psychology
Or just fresh air and green geography?