I know how it feels
to look out the window
and see a grey sky and naked trees
on a quiet Saturday of a cold February afternoon.
I do not see any birds.
But I am fully aware of a gentle presence,
a thin spread of silence
and the gracious attendance of mercy.
And I find it achingly romantic.
And I stare out the window again,
this time with a long soft look and a lull pause
and it just feels so right, so redeeming,
so exclusive, so even, so simple, so forever.
And I feel I am connected somehow to something larger,
to the truth of all things that delicately cradles the soul.
And It is more than enough to make me weave dreams with misty eyes.
It seems strange, those misty eyes.
It is just kind.