Lost.

Lost On Sunday

A few hours ago

I awakened to a nearly extinguished morning and,

scowling at the prospect of another day, left

my bed to its thoughts to prepare for the barrage

of happiness that would fill my evening.

The world was determined

to extract me from the melancholy afternoon,

strewing unexpected pleasantries in my path

that I, unable to transfer the joy from my mind

to my heart,

simply took as coincidences bereft of forethought.

I rested a few moments in a silent location,

debating the sun's warmth

and reasoning with a chilly wind, asking myself

genuine questions; when two swallows,

hopping across the path I had taken, looked my way,

pretended to acknowledge my hurt, paired

off and flew away.

-Calvin Olsen

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