I’m reblogging this to bump it to the top in case anyone wants to use this idea. ♥.
Sunday, early morning...
I am walking in my garden, writing notes for a new poem. The year is 1924, and I am 50-years old. In the next moment, I am transported into a strange room with white metallic walls. The bright lights overhead are blinding. There are no doors. I find myself sitting in a fairly comfortable chair that is positioned in the middle of the room. The material of the chair is unfamiliar. I examine the chair closely. I hear a voice, look up and have to shield my eyes from the searing light. I see a window on the wall of the room. Through the window, I see people, and they are all staring at me. When I get over the shock, I stand up and walk a bit shakily toward the window. Through it, I see children and adults. As I stare, I notice that, to my…
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