in the "office"

I've got nothing. Fluorescent lights, a pile of stapled papers, some indistinct buzzing. In my grey office cubicle, in the basement, missing writing's wildness in the face of a checklisted appointment book. Or, not really "missing" it, not in the emotional sense, just noting its absence. I'm not unhappy. I just don't feel like I feel on a cold October night with the wind separating brittle leaves from the branches of trees, beech trees and birches. Or like I do on an early morning beach, pond flat calm, last night's campfire burned down to delicate gray ash. Replacing that is contentedness, efficiency, pride in not screwing up in my classes this time. Someday I'll learn to make room for both ways of living. But for now I'm just at work.