Time, strapped around wrist. The start of another morning...
But not this time.
A field, of maize--for the eyes. Wanders in there...
Drops back--arms flung over, head, crossed.
A deep breath of freshair and long exhale...
Lazing like the lightly chirping farmer's field.
Where you lose the time...
Feels, like sleeping without falling,
Or like your body is free falling,
But caught by this warm embrace
Of the soft limey grass cusped beneath you,
Beneath a dark oaken gnarly tree.
Like a barge, drifting along,
On heavy languecent waters,
Letting the slow ebbing and flowing efflorescence,
Just wash over...
Then awandering do