now I know why grannies’ rock by the fire to crochet and grandpas’ hands cling to steaming mugs of coffee my fingers would cry out, but without a voice, they merely groan as I flex them on this cold cloudy morning my first poem today will have to wait for something warm to heat my knuckles so pen on paper might create friction and start a small fire while granny hooks the yarn and grandpa stares out the window On days like this, how can the sun not know that it’s time

In my town, blue sky and sun warm old bones, that lay next to pools and stroll down sidewalks. It’s a two miles-per-hour lifestyle. In fact, a horse and carriage would make a charming day trip down valley, starting after a lazy 10 a.m. breakfast. You’d find the views of the mountain’s change every ten wheel bumps or so as you passed sandy farms and dry ranches, stopped around 12:30 for refreshments and water for the horses – a stable with a snack bar would be perfect – then m

a tree splits afternoon sunbeams into warm fingers on my arm the sky seems ceiling close I could touch those clouds wind is in the middle of an afternoon nap nothing needs to move to feel that the world is alive and in a moment before a desire pulls me to my feet or my mind jumpstarts and transports me elsewhere I see it, in a skip of time this place is paradise