Last Day of Winter

I am content.

The windows of my room point outwards to the mountains beyond.

His beard tickles my cheek as he kisses it gently.

We plan for the future.

I am content

With the variety of food on my table.

Cooked by my own hands, it does not thrill the tongue,

But it satisfies.

I am content.

The work that I do ranges from art to science, done by my own hands.

My options limitless, my time a gift.

I may spend it how I wish.

As eagerness abstains from my day,

Passion and fire are not found.

I am content, but I gaze ahead continually, in wait for purpose.