No matter where I stand upon this spinning globe my head is up and my feet are down,
But each place whereupon I stand from the tips of my toes to the top of my crown,
Is so different in so many ways, my head spins to realize everywhere I am, is not the same.
For even if the day is the same, the time of year and season can have a different name.
If the day of the year is the 22nd of March and I am in Tennessee it is the first day of Spring
But if I am residing in Argentina on that self-same day, it is the first day of Fall! Amazing!
And if it’s Autumn in the north and the Vernal celebration in the South, what of the middle?
At the equator if one foot is in the North and the other in the South, when I am is a riddle.
And standing on a certain island in the Aleutians near Alaska I am the farthest East I can be,
But moving a mere inch further East I am as far West as I can be, but that fact is hard to see.
What about the speed when standing still? In one place I move about 1,000 miles per hour,
In another place at the very same time the middle of me moves no faster than an idle flower.
The idea of global living is wrapped in a puzzle in the middle of a riddle based on a fiction where,
I am clueless about when I am, where I am, or where I am going or how fast I am getting there.