the weariness of day

I am entitled to a small portion of the sky from my study chair. Zeus must be panting hard, for the clouds are racing by. Like a screensaver, they come in from the left, and then they are gone. Yet, that is all the movement that my eyes are entitled to. The brick walls outside are still. The branch hanging over is still. My room is still. The air in stale. Somehow, I feel as though this hollow world is caving in on me.

I sit here, indulging in the texts of laws and monetary sciences. I wish the world would move. Then, I would not feel so stale inside. The days are wearisome.

But there is hope beyond. I can wait.


Johnston