I Should Be Doing Other Things

I should be sitting in a wicker chair in the shade of a baobab tree, lost in vistas of bushveld and hills as far as the naked eye can see. I should be gathering wood for fire to warm a little cottage of stone, or bake fresh bread in the mornings and live as though this life’s my own. But here I am in dreary spirits, feeling distinctly detached and remote from the greedy corporate world; barely keeping my thoughts afloat. I should be nestled in lover’s arms, warmly in a feather-down bed, listening to faraway calls of the wild while so much, without words, is said.