What I Think Of When I’d Rather Not Be Thinking

 You ask me what I’m thinking of, expecting me to talk about my life, my work, about people.

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.

 I am thinking of a bed under the summer sun.  ​A hammock, gently swinging. 

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.

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