Nothing Left to Think

When I can't get my head straight
When I'm overthinking  
When my thoughts disturb and interrupt

That's when I go to the beach
Inhale the tiny drops of sea caught in the wind
watch the small pebbles dance with the waves
hear the low rumble of their teasing delight
taste the bite of salt on my lips
collect tiny pieces of polished glass

And then there is nothing left to think

That's when I go to the bush
Breath the air just breathed by the birds
watch the leaves playing with the wind
inhale that deep damp fragrance after rain

And then there is nothing left to think

That's when I go to my garden
Smile back at the flowers
who are still smiling at the sun
bury my hands in the moist brown earth

And then there is nothing left to think

Sometimes I simply walk
one foot and then the other
Each step resting gently on solid ground

And then there is nothing left to think

JANE O’SHEA
from ‘In Your Smallest Pocket’