The Present

A trip.

About an hour.

Patchwork green fields

rising and dipping into the horizon.

We take it in.

Dream for a moment

Of a life

Free.

Quiet mornings wrapped in farmland.

Thick mist.

Cornfields kissed by drops of dew.

And you—

Perhaps more than I

Want to run off

To such a place.

Your mind’s eye holds visions

Of perfection.

Still solitude.

No hurry.

Little do you know—

Nor I…

Displeasure is in the mind of the beholder.

Not in lines we choose to ride.

Back and forth.

Work and school.

Home again.

Day in.

Out.

Just as—

What we think we want

Is not just

In open air.

Drifting for miles

Without obstruction

Over patchwork fields.

Rather—

In each mindful breath.

In just this
Moment.

Regardless of what or where,

The present is the gift we give

To ourselves.

-Jayme