SEQUESTERED

Sequestered, he squandered. Day after day. He, a mound of patience, awaited. "Soon," he said aloud to himself. Almost too loudly for he didn't want to be discovered.

The bucolic setting was ideal for hatching plans from his outpost. Above his studio apartment, a sky as blue as choking morning glories loomed. It was a day for cloud weaving. A mercurial pattern: a kaleidoscope of French vanilla shapes manicured by The Master's hand.

Inside, a solitary figure sits in unabashed silence. Sandwiched with his thoughts and inactivity, he, a ponderer. Solitude, his constant companion. As he repeats his refrain.

"Soon." More quietly this time. For they may just be listening.