The Day When Sitting in a Driveway Felt Like a Miracle

I grabbed a chair from the garage,
and set it in the driveway facing southwest.

It was 5:30 pm in November.  A sunset
played around with the idea of blue and pink,
made black silhouettes of tens of thousands
of seemingly intertwined branches.

The silhouettes pulsed like veins.

I followed a sparrow with my eyes, then
I thought of north, the tilt of the earth,
and I saw myself from space, sitting there
in that lawn chair while the sun shone
on the southern hemisphere and our planet
deliberately spun, hurtling through space
like a misguided sparrow.

Then, all of a sudden,
I was in the driveway again.
Sunset had ended.
My hands were cold.
I took a breath.