Swapping Shop Talk at the Slop Shop

I sit alone upon a hill, green grass overhanging rock outcrops, a row of fence posts marching down the slope, their steps frozen in single file, held together by wire.

A few spring flowers push up out of the dead brown patches where cows once grazed and left their marks.

Hieroglyphic lichen patterns hold the landscape fast.

Cloud shadows flow across the hills and valleys below.

I am home.

Home am I.

Happiness and freedom far from the cabin in the woods.

Wandering the countryside.

Alive.

This is my universe, my place of rest, the activity of ions and atoms busy out of sight right here in front of me.

Relaxed.

A sunny breeze tickles the tops of grass stalks.

My steps disappear behind me and reappear in front of me.

Miracles.

Farmhouses in the distance.

Mirages.