Find My Phone

Is this not the perfect day? Dawn on a partly cloudy morning, a slight breeze, birds chirping, a thriving crop soon to be harvested, then sold. I standalone, with my trusty iPad. Holding within its soul stories of romance and intrigue, lives lived, universes dying, while the cows moo and the roosters crow in the distance and my iPhone on mute.

My wife, at home, chatters, thinking I’m in an adjoining room

Hide and seek with the grandchildren, remain hidden.

Battery fully charged.

Acres of broad green leaves sway in the breeze.

A gentle vibration, A “Find My Phone” alert.