Summer always matures on a Sunday. The beginning
of a new week organized as a day where even
the sun sleeps late eventually blossoms into the brightness
of tranquil action. This day studies a graceful satisfaction
as I sit, mind focused and as astray, outside amongst
the beings of temporary life.
I wonder where we go when there is nothing
left to be. There must be a place, somewhere
just before the border of motion that we go to bully stillness.
We live in such a world of commotion
that we sometimes forget how to rest, we forget
how to vacation inside the capsules of time
and how enjoy each island of a moment to the fullest
we often envy our own abilities to escape — as
even in daydreams we find reason for an end. Yes Miss Bronte
we find a need to make things happen
even when it is necessary to just let things be
like now where my human nature
has become an action verb – always thinking
about the action of being.
Tarringo T. Vaughan