Changing Tack

The Aspie brain is a super, sensory-processor.
It fuels the ideas,
That fly about like a myriad of butterflies.
It can pinpint an individual,
And focus with infinitessimal detail.
Morph it into a fantastical thought,
Work away at it with the craftsmanship of a master.

Yet....
As the Aspie is transfixed and enthralled,
With their own marvelous mental creation,
Life goes on about them.
Then abrubtly,
Like a slap,
They are shaken from this comfortable oblivion,
And brought back to the uncomfortable reality;
(and sometimes kicking and screaming.)

Time to Think

It seems that thinking is a dying pursuit.
Pondering, daydreaming or inviting free flowing, flights of fancy.
Lives are filled with activity.
Some purposeful, some mere distraction.
Time without activity is characterised as boring.
Now our children are spending every waking moment entertained or stimulated.
Their time organised into activities.
Interspersed with babysitting by screens.
All but gone is the wandering about outside,
Letting the curiosities of life pump into you.
Pleasantly poking, prodding and pondering.
We adults are no better incessantly rushing,
Or playing on our electronic devices.
Grant me time to think.

Heat of the day

In the heat of the day I fail.
My mind and it's multitude of ideas are lost.
My brain finds itself a miasma of warm lumpy custard.
Humidity and thickening air weigh me down.
Yet I cannot enjoy a refreshing siesta,
The sheets damp - cling
The afternoon sun finds a slit between the blinds,
And finds my face
No respite.
Nothing to do but to wait,
Until the coolness of night.