.
Somewhere Else.
I lie observing, far and high, a vast embroidery unfold,
Detecting sense of humour, in the absence of design, and monotone of thread.
I watch the work developing even as it fades, leading me to wonder how
One ever learns improvement when the outcome’s swiftly gone.
.
Sun gleams on busy needles as they pierce the chosen pattern,
And it pleases me to think this way, even as I ponder on
The doling out of trays of food, possibly unwanted,
Or inaccessible and obdurate, hygienic in their packs.
I hear the clink and chink of drinks dispensed to while away
The tedium, or possibly obliterate some underlying fear.
.
This might encourage envy of the journeys undertaken,
Fill me full of longings for those places yet unseen,
Were I not lying here in peaceful contemplation,
Freely conjuring countries, distant cities, in my mind,
Subject to no vagaries but my own.
.
I reject a charge of indolence, protest I lack no spirit. I am a woman
Sitting in her garden while the world goes on it’s way,
Noticing the drawings in the sky. The sun is warm on me,
And I am finding life to be, quietly sufficient.
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