The afternoon is sauntering by.

The sky is nearly clear,

just a few far-off clouds

that do not pose any threat.

It is warm, I sit under one fan,

another whirs in behind me.

I am aware Bear and Duke are nearby.

Poem number 12,

the halfway mark.

It is downhill from here.

The gentle clicking of the keyboard,

the whir of the fans,

the blue, blue sky,

all reminding me to hang on,

be strong,

Dance with the poems

in front of you

Let go of the poems behind.

Write for this moment in time.