Does the place exist
Beneath a proud oak tree
Far afield, in a vaguely remembered town
Picnic basket atop a red and white checkered blanket
This feeling persists
Right on the edge of me
Where I healed and understood the meaning of “now”
Eyes at half-lid, no more patiently asking, “are we there yet?”
I’ve checked off my list
Seen all I had to see
Worked the weald, left the stage where I took my final bow
I will have lived, but until that day and I have met
Where does “now” exist?
Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash
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