Poem: The Landscape Does Not Matter

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The Landscape Does Not Matter

The Windsor chair sits in the corner.
Light comes in the window.
A breeze whispers off the mountain.

The trees in the distance wave and dance.
A bird lands at your feet, briefly looking for food
before flying off.

Below you is the garden.
Blooms have turned into cucumbers and eggplant.
The corn has tasseled.

The landscape does not matter.
Not to you. Not today. You are content
with time and stillness and empty skies.

Your arms dangle on the arms of the chair.
Your mind, normally so clouded, clears,
evaporates like last night’s rainstorm.

There are things to do. People wait for you.
But for now, you take the medicine that keeps you alive.
Time, stillness and empty skies.

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