I love to watch the ivory clouds, from a secret spot between ivy walls, where the wind whispers harmlessly, that I should forget the Other place. The place called Other, I assume, is the one with labor, and pain, and enemies, with bills, and stress, and no time, to sit between the clouds and the ivy. I do not watch the grass grow at my feet gently pushing as it now is, pushing me aside to make room for itself. Grass is selfish and thoughtless. I rather watch clouds billow and blow, shape shifting moving my imagination, until at last they crash into the horizon, creating reds, yellows, and sometimes greens. Rising from my recline, the wind whispers, warning me of toil and turmoil away from here, but away from here exists love, and friends, and a warm meal, and a good stretch of the legs in the place called Other. -T. Gene Davis |