Through My Window

Through my window,

I can see my new outlook on the world:

a wall of green cedar that hides,

a short block away, the sea:

which I smelled this morning

when I slid the sliding door open: 

salty, pungent. I breathed it in,

as I heard the foghorn blow,

sounding like a feral cow,

lost on a lonely shore.

On the deck, beyond the glass,

sweet peas reach towards the sun, 

small flowers blooming, newly-planted,

which means: I am home.

Hummers buzz-storm the feeders,

a dozen at a time,

whirr of wings, darting small brown Rufus bodies,

alive with a hunger

it is my privilege to feed.

One lone bee has been sipping as well,

bereft of honey and a hive,

he makes do. We all make do.

It all spells out that wondrous gift: a Life.

Through my window I watched spring arrive,

then fulsome summer.

Soon I will watch fall segue to winter storms,

and rain will be the entire story, rain lashing, 

wild waves crashing, foghorn mooing,

months when everything that goes outside

must be swathed in rubber.

Through my window,

with delight, I watch 

the ever-glorious seasons pass.

for dVerse:  Looking Out, Looking In