The middle of nowhere has farms and barns.
Miles and miles of green pasture and piles of bailing yarn.
Nowhere is long, extending fence.
Nowhere is present, past, and future tense.
Nowhere is a calm but windy day.
Nowhere is where you and I lie in the hay.
Taking in whatever may come our way.
But nowhere is where I like to imagine the barns and piles of bailing yarn, laying in the hay, on that calm but windy day. Hiding from the tasks you and I were supposed to complete that day.
Nowhere may seem like nowhere at all, but nowhere becomes somewhere when I'm with you during that day in the fall.