Here I sit and wonder, what doth the people do what they do, yonder.

I sit on my small patch of grass, cross-legged and with my mind at ease. I have a single blade of grass in my hand and stroke it gently. If it was a little less fragile, it would probably cut me. But it won’t, maybe it doesn’t even want to.

The sun is shining into my eyes and I let myself get blinded for a while. I pinch my eyes try to see what the others do. They walk around looking for something. They are more successful at looking than me, because they wear sunglasses. Still, I might be better at finding.

I am content that I won’t have to look any further today, I have found a place and something in my hand. I have found the sun and a spectacle to gaze upon. Herds and herds move by me, like a river of sun-glassed clouds in the forms of humans. Is it too many metaphors and analogies? Who even cares.

I Wonder when I will leave this patch of grass. I wonder when I will part ways with this blade of grass. I wonder, when the week starts and when it ends. I wonder who told us to look, for something. I wonder who told me I don’t.

My mind is crossed, just as my legs.

My legs fall asleep. Maybe my mind will, too.