These days I don’t do much.
I like not doing much.
It gives me something to do.
In the early morning I sit and wait.
Not waiting, exactly.
Not like waiting for Christmas,
waiting for the cable guy, or
waiting for the 6 o’clock news.
More like watching.
Like keeping an eye out.
I have no idea of what’s coming.
I have no specific expectations.
If something doesn’t happen,
I won’t be disappointed.
Alarmed,
but not disappointed.
I have no appointments
except for my chair,
the sun through the trees,
my pen and notebook,
and my red cup of coffee drifting
toward equilibrium with the ambient air.
And I am adrift in sensations,
a lucky sensate creature in a sensual world.