That Which is Up

It was a cool spring day and I was outside
lying in the web of brightly colored threads
that my dad had brought home form Mexico.
The hammock always was one of my favorite places
to sit, gently swaying and watch the clouds
and the trees that rustle their leaves in the wind.
Slowly, I closed my eyes and drifted into a lull,
letting the birds chirping be the song
that pushed me on towards sleep.
A soft giggle roused me and I grumbled
and squirmed as I opened my eyes,
but rather than finding the clear blue sky
with its birds and clouds and breezes,
I stared at the ground, as a battalion of ants
marched by and I promptly landed among them.
It turns out no matter how much
I stare at the sky and loose my mind among the clouds
I always come back to earth where the real world waits,
no matter how often I take my flights of fancy.

November 26, 2002