Saturday morning 8:41

Saturday morning 8:41
The ferry sharply turns into Active Pass
The black, wrinkled waters look alien
To my computer-accustomed eyes.
Looking at the grassy brown banks
I reminisce of old camping days
Of campfires and music-making

At an early hour
The brain is unsure whether to wake or sleep
The mind confused as to how to spend this hour profitably
The heart tired and forlorn
The body startled by a sound

I read today
That only the one who cares neither to please nor displease
Is at peace
This teaching is too hard
Who can bear it?

The day questions me
How will you spend the morning
What plans have you for the afternoon
Will you spend the evening profitably?

The black seas crinkle like crumpled paper
The sky spits
The air swirls about me with cold
And so I move indoors

Saturday is supposed to be for leisure
For pleasure, for Saturday morning cartoons
Reading the front page with a cappucino in hand
Then why do I feel dread?

I wish to remain awake
To be conscious of the feel of the ground
Senses not dulled by the pleasure of a chocolate bar
But the consequence of mental acuity
Is the lucid sameness of it all
We realize that experience is not as stimulating as we had hoped

Slowly the faraway banks bob up and down
I am to meet someone not seen in years
A mixture of anticipation and dread.