Sliding Vision

I can never sleep on a journey, usually.

I imagine I am still and it is everything else which moves around me.

It slides with no purpose, except that of constant movement.

Green fields of corn and rice grow as they gather pace,

White clouds shrink and expand, shifting through all shades of white and grey. It is they that lull me into an unreal state, until I wake with a bump; my forehead hits the window.

Papaya and palm trees decorate the land by the roadside, full fruity flesh about to fall…

I like to focus my vision on an object in the foreground. Just to pass the time, I watch it slide beyond my sight, into the vast invisible landscape.

A leaf, a single fruit, the bamboo hat of a fieldworker