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.