Where I live the lanes run this way and that

all confused changing their minds.

On scowling days they run with rain

to remind you which is up and which is down. 

Back on myself I go to places I thought I knew

and wonder about: doors replaced under feathered slate

this year's car behind a rickety gate.

A freshly dug bed behind a hedge privacy nevertheless shared.

All of this with cats on tiptoe watering holes,

no dogs unless on leads which of course is never news to me. 

And in a way everything fits and so thus sated I wend 

a snake and ladder again to where my door smiles and says:

did you enjoy your trip? (it knows me so well).