Seven o'clock. Sun down. No service.
The night drops in with nothing scheduled.
No scroll. Nowhere for the attention to land.
My hand moves toward the phone anyway.
Finds it. Puts it back.
Finds it again.
This is what boredom feels like now.
Not emptiness. Withdrawal.
The bush isn't quiet.
It's full of sound.
But none of it is asking anything of me.
We've trained ourselves to need the ask.
The next thing. The thing after that.
A night in the dark with nothing to do
used to just be an evening.