I’m not here. I’m here. 

I’m not here, 

I’m here.

Bike slowly rolling down the hill 

Watching the yellow changing, golden changing fields 

and it’s bales and it’s bright blue cloud dotted backdrop

and it’s stick figures. 

I’m smiling at summer’s last swallows 

Waving at cats lazing in driveways

Laughing down roads marked ‘unsuitable to motor vehicles’

Eating sandwiches on hilltops, by fence posts, on stiles.

In short – I’m not here. 

I’m here.

1 thought on “I’m not here. I’m here. ”

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