By design, Earth spins at her own pace 
Unencumbered by swarming populations
Dawns and sunsets, her resolute sentries
She never concerns herself with measuring their participation
But I do
Her grass grows, her rivers meander at the mercy of her secret
schedule for temperature and rain.
But I note their impact

My intent rarely pairs with hers
Sometimes too slow
Restlessly sleeping at the wheel, prioritizing errors
Wasting energy on material, grinding against her innate rhythm

Sometimes too fast
Unable to plant my feet
Dragging behind me, bumping and tangled in consequences
I grip tightly to compensate
Her centrifugal force tugs
I lose the gravity of my stance

She is constant
But citizens throw curves
I bare scratch marks from her guard rails as proof

Success is matching her mysterious agenda
Uncounted hours, peaceful journeys, fewer bruises,
My contentment's possible aligned with her tempo

B. Toner February 2025