lost days

Once in awhile I would get a reprieve from the grind
and I would get the day off of work because of the weather.

Those days were always the best. There was nothing to do
but reflect and remain, cause and create in sudden freedom.

I would listen to the wind or the rain with absolute enjoyment;
the way it whistled against the trees and spattered upon the roof.

Those are the most keen moments, letting time gather as it will,
allowing for not allowing at all in sudden freedom.

When you can feel your body loosen, not threatened by the schedule,
or the sweat, unrestricted to move as freely as it would like.

And then there is sadness when you realize you have tomorrow. But
this is now, and now is fine the way it is without bringing reality to bother.

I always smile when I hear the wind rolling through, out of the pass, and
down from the mountains in its reprieving glory.

I always smile at the patter of rain on rooftops, cleaning away the spent casings
of days past like a warrior through the fields of battle.

I always laugh a little when the day is lost and I am left to myself with a clear head
and hours to waste on whatever way I choose.