CODDIWOMPLE Maps are for people who know where they’re going. I’ve only got rhythm — and a question or two. The road hums back when I hum first, and the wind keeps time on the edge of my shoes. Coddiwomple — forward into wonder. The compass spins, the heart says “yes.” Every sidestreet whispers maybe, and somehow, that’s enough. Between jazz hands and bus tickets, between coffee steam and moonlight — I keep meeting myself in motion, never late, never lost, just learning the tune. I keep meeting myself in motion, never late, never lost, just learning the tune.
