we spot our territories. those preserved versions of ourselves. they are still important but of less consequence.
we remain happy for days at a stretch. Mind works with less vigil and clutter.
We wonder if this is the end of imagination. if this is where we turn dumb and mute.
but, then i see you looking over the fence with a lost glance and i feel that i couldn't possibly fathom uncertainty.
It is winter and as we stride along the field, i wish i could tell you that i feel wonderful.