A poem on my “sit spot”

I see grass and weeds and stumps and trees. 

I hear the silence broken by the chirping of birds, the distant rumbling of cars, and the soft yammering of my classmates. 

I smell the moist fabric covering my face and the hint of coffee breath.

I feel the soft, damp ground beneath my feet and the sharp prickly needles of the young spruce trees.

I’m slightly cold, but it’s nice and refreshing. 

I feel fine.