The steps out back
Are made of wood.
They lead no where but up and down.
Sometimes I go sit there.
Out there, where no one else is.
While all the rest of the world is somewhere else.
I think about things that puzzle me, intrigue me,
And confuse me.
I think about people I know, people I used to know,
People I’d like to know,
People I will never know.
I sometimes think about what the rest of the world is doing out there,
While I’m sitting here, thinking,
Alone.
I know magnificent things are being done,
Experiences are creating memories
Even if I’m not part of it all.
Sometimes,
On those steps,
I think of the memories that I created.
Or memories I’m going to make.
If it’s early morning when there I sit,
It’s cool and hidden from the sun.
But later if I go out back to sit
The sun, if it’s shining,
Stares directly at me.
Sometimes I sit there and wonder if the rest of the world misses me,
At all.
Other times I sit there
And breathe,
Closing my eyes and soaking in the nothingness being asked of me.
Just today as I sat there and thought-
A bee landed on my foot
I gently whoooshed it away so it wouldn’t take a notion to sting me.
I watched,
Sadly,
As it walked away.
It only walked. And walked. Never flying.
I fretted I may have harmed it,
But it could have already been flightless and walked on to my foot.
I watched until it walked out of my vision.
Then I sat there.
And thought some more.
Out back.
On the steps.
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