I watched two squirrels running around
today — one was chasing the other,
maybe they were fighting over a nut…
looked like they were having fun
this was early in the morning,
before I was set to start the grind — 
the sun had just come up
and it was a little bit cool
but you could feel spring’s promise
in that coolness
and I felt a pang of sadness
you see, the thing about
having so much to do,
so many things going on — 
so many obligations
and responsibilities — 
is that you miss the little
moments around you,
the events of nature, the quiet
little miracles of survival…
while you’re trying to get by
in your own big, loud world
there’s so much simple beauty
transpiring all around you
in the spaces overlooked — 
our screens and machines
have won the competition
for our attention…
very little feels real anymore,
and all that’s left in us
is this nagging sense of
absence

Garbage Notes:

We lost an hour today. But we gained some extra light, though. And some hope. Hope for warmer weather. Hope for Spring. This poem is one that I wrote towards the end of winter last year. The temperatures had started getting a little more bearable. And you could begin to see animals out and about. Birds chirping in the morning. Squirrels emerging from their torpor.

Torpor. Hmm. That seems right, doesn’t it? A state of inactivity. Mental and physical inactivity. That’s what it feels like sometimes, getting through the last few weeks of winter. It feels like a waiting game. Like your brain itself has been on ice. Waiting for nicer things to do and see. Something prettier than the backlit screens and the grey and white walls that surround us.

This poem is about feeling like you’re missing out on the beauty of the natural world. Miraculous little events happening outside, all around us. And so many of us are stuck inside. Doing work. Catching up on whatever. Stuck behind these perniciously comfortable and protective barriers we’ve created for ourselves.

In the war for our attention, it seems nature has lost. And not just the nature outside, but our internal nature as well. We ignore the intuitions and sensations inside us. We forget the language of our bodies. We quell our basic instincts in the pursuit of arbitrary goals and social reinforcement.

It’s no wonder so few things feel real anymore. This poem is about that nagging sense of absence. Like we’re missing out on something, and we don’t even know what it is.

It’s the feeling that greatness exists somewhere, but doubting that it was ever meant for us. Where is the bright side? What’s the positive thing? Where’s the hope?

The hope is in being aware of it. It’s in the realization of what’s happening. It’s being in tune with the dissonance. If you have awareness, you can at least take some steps to make things different. To forge new connections between things.

For once, you can stop and pay attention to those two little squirrels chasing each other. Admire the beautify in the songs of the birds. You can take a few extra minutes to sit and reflect on what reality actually feels like. You can pause. You can be mindful. You can write. You can breathe. You can feel the vibrations in your own voice. You can look at the world around you and realize that, yes, you idiot, you’re part of it.

Franco Amati 2025

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