From my window I read the lines worn into grass by tramping feet,
Curved paths defying straight asphalt show the road more travelled.
A blabbermouth thread of brown earth betrayed the gap in the fence,
Another counted those who slipped from playground to coffee shop.
These everyday desires are dwindling, overtaken by circumstance.
New routes reveal our new longing: to walk safely in solitude.
Elizabeth Guilt lives in London, where history lurks alongside plate glass office buildings and stories spring out of the street names. She has had fiction published in Luna Station Quarterly, All Worlds Wayfarer, and The Gray Sisters. You can find her on her website or Twitter (@elizabethguilt).