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Sitting, thinking,
hard work,
boring.
Look out the window.
See it there, just inside the trees:
a sharp hoofprint
a flash of mane
a single, signature horn.
Another hides over there, peering between the branches.
They're waiting for you.
Come, biped, they say,
Come for a run.
Eyes sparkle with laughter.
You'll never catch us.
Ah.
A challenge.
This work can wait.
Out the window, over the fence, into the woods.
They dash ahead joyfully,
and it lifts the spirits
just to watch them run.
The chase is on.
And it is under and over and past,
around the trees and through the bushes.
All across the landscape,
running until human tires or unicorn deigns to be caught.
A smiling, laughing resolution to the hunt.
Only then is the confining room returned to,
and the work resumed.
It no longer seems so unpleasant.
Sometimes a break
a distraction
an escape
is all to the good.
So if you're tired and tapped out and ready to rest,
stop for a while.
Put it down, and come outside.
Because there's thunder in the valley,
and silver manes flying;
put the work aside,
and let's go chasing unicorns.
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