I’m a wandering wonderer.

I’ve been wondering a lot lately.

I wonder about our sense of being and if there really is a “sense” to all of this or we just pretend there is to make ourselves feel better, because as one, we aren’t really all that much. So I wonder where I could go if my feet were railroad tracks and how far I could carry myself if I stretched into wings.

I wonder these things because I’ve already wondered so many others.

I’ve wondered about distance and how we measure it. Because feet and miles are two different things and feet and motors are two different things, too and I wonder if I could measure my distance to you in heartbeats or blinks.

I don’t think it would be possible but I’ve wondered the color of a sun firing through naked winter trees. I’ve wondered in colors of blueberries and plums.

I wonder if trees feel it when we pluck their fruit. Or if fruit screams from it’s core so loud that we can’t even hear it when we rupture their skin with our teeth.

I wonder if our teeth like their job. I wonder if hands can feel guilt and eyes can taste the back of our eyelids.

I’ve been wondering a lot lately.

I wonder when I wander and I often wander because I’m wondering. I’m wondering what land would better suit my feet. I’m wondering what ground my shoes French kissed and fell in love with. I’m wondering what will happen when I rest my soles on their solid ground soul mate. Will I feel it?

Will I feel the sense of being everyone is talking about? I wonder if it exists;

The,
            I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

I wonder what would happen if I didn’t imagine somewhere else.

Somewhere new.

I wonder if I’ll ever fall for being still and I wonder what a content mind sounds like. 

For now,

I wander while wondering, wondering if I’ll ever stop wandering.

Image

seen somewhere between Colorado and Nebraska

            

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