The Dirigible Balloon
Poetry for Children

Relative Distance

We get to the very top
and Dad helps me climb onto the pillar
that marks the summit.
The trig point.
He holds onto to me as I shout to the valley below
and wave at the reservoir.
King of the castle.
I laugh at the ants in the car park, just starting out,
putting on boots, checking their maps,
bustling round picnics.

Dad tears a roll in half,
and I hold it open as he slices in apple and cheese with his knife.
This is not a Mum picnic!
He says it’s been a long time since he had an apple with crunch,
and he leans against the stone with the sun on his face.

What's it for, I ask, making him jump - The Trig Point?
He doesn’t mind that I talk with my mouth full.
For measuring the peaks, he says.
Look around,
there will be three of them.
Three peaks.
Three highest points.
Tri.
Three.


It’s not hard I say. I know them already.

Here.
Now.

And you being home.

About the Writer


Rachel Burrows

Rachel is a mum and a teacher, but also a noticer of things. She loves standing still and absorbing - taking in the sounds, smells and secrets of our world. She has travelled far and is frequently found in pea-patches.