I do wonder what it's like...
Your comings and goings.
How it affects the way you go in the world.
I must recharge to be in the world.
Defragment. Challenge and focus.
For I'm afraid, I'm neither tethered tightly to, nor wound deeply with reality.
Though neither mad, as the puzzles I put together form pictures of ideal places.
Yet not quite sane enough to travel, bags packed without a break.
I must stop along the interstate to breathe.
The promise of a well travelled life,
Enchanting. Although they say it's the journey that makes it-
But the destination sure better be something to write home about.
I will hear a story, whisper in through the rafters,
While I lay sleeping in the hay.
My senses soaking in the essence of each turn in the tale.
Images, as movies-chopped in photographs:
All dangling together on a line across my lawn.
And I must collect the laundry, bring it in before the rain.
Lift each moving photo from the clip, folding it gently into my mind.
I wave at a neighbour who passes, wonder what her day has been-
Perhaps she spent hours laughing on the phone while the coffee disappeared.
Perhaps a spider caught her fancy, and she watched it weave webbing across the tiny window over the sink.
I have tumbling reels of images, loosely flipping from the bin.
The clouds menacing closely, first drops of rain hurtling at high speeds towards me.
Better to run the dry laundry in.
And feed Belle while I'm in the kitchen.
Then the clock will strike and the shop will call me in.
Time to formulate that story,
Let the work begin.
And I'm still wondering, how it is-
You go in the world.
Have you a good task completed, or cellar door open?
Would it be by grace or for glory...
Would you adventure or would you slave?
And what seasons come as your clockwork ticks down....
I do wonder what it's like.
-E
