Shed

I imagine sliding open the glass door, walking up the grass and past the citrus trees to the rear shed. I imagine entering the open door and standing on the tiled floor. Around me are garden tools and ripped up blue tarpaulins. Some timber is stored above my head. It is dark and I can see none of this. There is no real reason to be standing in the shed, so I walk back out and look over the fence and between the near houses to the sea. I stand there looking for a while, then I go back inside and sit down here. But this never happened. I never moved from here. Nothing ever moves from here. The gathering hum of many silent moments. I turned off the music sometime ago. I had promised myself that I would clear away everything on the table, but everything remains pretty much the same. I wonder what kept me standing outside the shed for so long. Was I actually looking at the sea? Or was I thinking?