Out the high window…

Lying here isn’t helping…….

mechanical sounds whirl. blowing away the leaves that fell. the tree’s presents to the ground below.

jewels of water caress the possums home. sparkling in the grey light.

the palm filters light in stripey folds. it sways in the breeze against the glarey sky.

the blinds hang like lone cobwebs. they dance subtly-slightly.

i sat up. the rain falls, sprinkling like icing sugar. slowly painting its way down, down and down again. the leaves shiver in the breezy air. the sky is grey
the leaves are cold
the dainty rain is falling slowly in thin spits of water
the beauty is just out the window…

the mechanical stops

just the cars passing by

it starts up again to blow the leaves

nature is met by the realisation of the city…..

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One thought on “Out the high window…

  1. Great writing is truly like a flowing stream ( of consciousness ) that picks up the reader and carries them off on a journey of divine adventure. Seeing and feeling the world through the unique perceptions of the writer.

    I think thats such a stream

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