Here in this middle space
This activity suspension
This slightly bewildering unknown place
(I say as though moments aren’t all previously unknown)
I wander a little
Pick up a few things
(I’m the resident stuff-mover)
Wonder how much function counts as enough
While I wonder who decides what counts.
And how one measures.
Why one measures.
The children are playing in the pool
For the umpteenth time
And the umpteenth hour
And I wonder when that stopped being enough.
It is nice out here.
My porch furniture
– though maybe a little more grownup
and significantly less exuberantly acted upon –
Is fun and comfy.
The breeze is nice,
The play a happy soundtrack.
So I think…
I think that sitting here
Savoring this moment
And all of a sudden,
This supposed activity suspension
Feels anything but inactive
And the potential of having something to show
Greater than ever