.

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.