Not All Venetians Are Blind

As I love nature, as I love singing birds...I love thee, my friend. - Thoreau

outside my window

in a mid december's thaw

the day briefly lets down its knitted shawl

birds dance on a yellowing carpet of seating grass

a cotillion of time on a dance floor of divinity

a fossilized eternity unearthed in but an uncurtained moment

cut my flesh

stone my will

feed me creation's jagged little pill

as i lean steadfast on an old wooden sill

searching not for answers but offering up questions

soaking up this nature spill

rain is pelting down

crying out for resolve

the wind trying to strong-arm its direction

this draws not most people's attention

i dare to hold a gateway's ticket to this glorious show

having nowhere else more retrospective to go

Author's Note

"A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us. A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener." - Thoreau