It’s not the color of the windows
for which I fall,
because peeking through wispy blinds,
is a soul,
sometimes tattered, well worn,
or even a bit that’s torn
It’s not just the lovely outside
that’s lived such a life,
but the shadows and highs
the lows and the light
of a being so right which
sets my heart to flight
The window screens have holes
in this rented, old house.
But I open the window still
to feel the night air,
with its gentle and refreshing chill
which lightens all that I carry
and washes the grime from my soul
A crisp, comfortable chill fills the night air. The gas fireplace pops and snaps like a flag in the wind, burning through blue-tinged crystals. The flames dance and leap as high as they can in their confined circle while a well-aged tree plays puppeteer to a host of lanterns. Blow its branches, multiple hues caress a manicured lawn with a soft glow.
In the distance the sun sets in pinks, purples and blues that peek through rain-heavy clouds and the river meanders languid and silent below it.
I feel most alive in this perfect moment where memories bob along the surface of my mind. Peace and comfort blanket me, as if no time had passed, as if I’d held my breath for decades. This is where I belong with my person by my side.