I come in from the garden, dirty

hands, feet, hair and sit

in the leather chair

blades whirl above my head.

 

I have no idea what time it is.

 

I have been shoveling, planting, running

from rain

for hours.

 

The sun is still sunny but

softening.

 

I have no idea what time it is.

 

My laptop is nearby closed.  I would 

look at the time if it were open.  I don’t.

 

There are no clocks around me.  The television

is off.  No time there.

 

My phone is somewhere,

silent.

 

Chair arms rest mine.

 

Fan-made wind cools my burnt face.

 

I have no idea what time it is.

 

 

 

I want to do this again.