Much of the time,
I live in my plans and my past.
My imagination and memory;
What has been and what might be.
Much of the time, I live in my mind.
But, here, in the now,
Rain beats and beads on the glass.
On the mountain, it feeds the stream
That runs the rock so that trees might drink.
Natural art in the now I must leave my mind to see.
By Herndon | MUSIC 