Worlds

There's a world when I rise on a Saturday morning, a dawning world stretched out like an infinite ocean before me, and I, Henry the Navigator at the wheel venturing out into its virgin air, and the light coming on gradually as if it doesn't want to startle my eyes, the hills grey-blue with touches of pink gleaming from the windows, the bare-branched trees' expressive arms reaching up, perfectly, neutrally brown, like the antlers of thousands of deer, and I, the first man on the first morning again, infinity already gained as I roll on to successive infinities, and there's another world climbing the steep grade out of bed, another impossible weekday waiting, rewards so interspersed with difficulty as to feel barely worth my effort, another day that calls for skills I do not have and don't know how to get, (we all go through period like this, don't we?) and I wonder how that vast ocean of a Saturday morning world shut down into this tight fist, and whether that virgin land I entered that day was but a sweet mirage...