After walking through
two technologically marvelous
expos I realized how little I know
of what I need to know
in order to make my work
move more easily, simply flow.
If only I had been an engineer;
integrating automation
into my operations
would be nothing to fear.

But, after four days
of robotic adventures
I am only on my fifth flight
of the week, where upon
looking out across
an expanse of clouds and sky,
I slowly begin to cry.

Inside this aluminum tube
I have come to learn
I have forgotten the feel
of life’s true breath.
I have forgotten the superb
sensations within the symmetric
confluence of animal, mineral
and vegetable.

My mind now tries to reach past
all the gimmickry; looking for
some forgotten memories.
Like that of a majestic tree
taking deep breaths, as I stand
in his presence, admiring his
beauty. Or the buzz
of a billion mosquito’s,
feasting on my blood,
while walking along a river bank.
Or the wind rustling through
an intricate web of limbs,
filtering light catching
rays along a freshly made path.

I can barely remember the sound
of rain, furiously trying
to penetrate a densely packed forest.
Or the feel of nearly being lost
in the deep woods; and not really
caring, because at least I’m away
from people, cars, and buildings.

And what of the memories of the
paradoxically calming effect of
a loudly rushing river, or the
perpetual thunder of a waterfall,
or the sensation of drifting in the
ocean, being one with the sea,
being amphibious, being a
mammalian-fish-breathing air.
Where are those memories
when I’m in an artificially
created environment
at thirty-five thousand feet?


© 2005 Sara Coslett


Photograph: Goin' for the Gold – Frank Weston