Where am I going? I don’t quite know. Down to the stream where the king-cups grow- Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow- Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.
Where am I going? The clouds sail by, Little ones, baby ones, over the sky. Where am I going? The shadows pass, Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.
If you were a cloud, and sailed up there, You’d sail on water as blue as air, And you’d see me here in the fields and say: “Doesn’t the sky look green today?”
Where am I going? The high rooks call: “It’s awful fun to be born at all.” Where am I going? The ring-doves coo: “We do have beautiful things to do.”
If you were a bird, and lived on high, You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by, You’d say to the wind when it took you away: “That’s where I wanted to go today!”
Where am I going? I don’t quite know. What does it matter where
people go? Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow- Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.
I have said before that I feel very lucky to live by some open wild spaces. We go on walks every morning with Zuzu the Luckdragon, and it is so amazing to see the spaces change and morph with the seasons. Our last walk through the Westmoor Field was so hot and muggy and hazy and just beautiful! It reminded me of one of my favorite poems by A. A. Milne… It’s so fitting, I hope you love it as much as I do!
