I don’t wish to dwell on troubling things, the day has been littered with enough of them
They fall upon the mind and it holds them like a hook
Or a bouncing ball that my palm sends downwards and away, it hits the wall rebounds
You cannot not think about something by not thinking about something – see, around it comes again
We send it in an envelope stamped with our own address
Consciousness, the ever diligent Postman Pat
Here it is, dropping through the door that stands ajar whilst I sit here stuck in a ponder
I step outside and wander aimlessly
The evening is scented with shower damp dust, a breeze stirs the trees and evening crickets all about me softly click in conversation
The sun is low and golden, it paints the pale thick grass in the paddocks that runs away as far as my screen shortened eyes can see
Blue skies, pink lined clouds, a squadron of ducks form a triangle heading south
I watch them and gradually ease my shoulders down
Listening, I ground my bare feet in sun warmed earth,
Falling into nature I cease to think, and what is gone from the mind is gone from experience
I could disappear,
But my thoughts would be lonely without me here, to breathe life into them
*Photo courtesy Anton Darius Unsplash
