But I am thinking of the sea, the gentle water lapping up the shore, a hand caressing silk.
The creamy froth of milk. On the table, freshly-baked bread this morning.
The bell of a bicycle, the furious pedaling from afar.
I am thinking of a song, half-sung, half-hummed.
Blades of grass that wave goodbye as a breeze ebbs and flows.
There is a finch perched on the dead branch.
What fine sand, what mellow stars.
I want to be here all day and not go: just here, now, a fine day for not thinking.