Challenge: View from your window

I'm curious to know what the view is from a window where you live. It can be your bedroom window, from your office, anywhere.

Post and enjoy

Bedroom View

Tuesday. Office workers
rush down stairs, trucks
pull up outside the local
shop. Afternoon comes
and workers return,

staring into the gas-blue
screens, trucks leave
and newspapers unfold
themselves on pavement,
charts to unseen places.

Evening. Lights send signals
in morse code to buildings
opposite, my eyes picking
up the transmissions
as they trawl the streets

looking for stories to play
with in my playground,
feeling everything spin
until a hand pushes me
back down with a thud.

January in Vermont

Outside my window, I see that
Last week’s snow lingers,
In patches here and there:
The only sign,
Besides thick coats,
That winter is anywhere
Other than my imagination.

View from my kitchen

The walls are a reflection
of space. Cold, airless.
Oily stars are splattered
on the hobs, forming new
nebulae with every meal.
One day I will clean
the galaxy, insulated
away from the screams
of worlds collapsing,
from the view of an archer
pulling his bow back,
ready for the kill.

Through a tiny frost-less hole
I see a blanket of ice
Is slung over campus,
Minnesota water daggers
Drooping the volleyball net.
Scarf-wrapped heads
Read -273.15 Kelvin.
I despair to know
I will want for a sherpa
When I trek to the gas station
For supper.

View from the Study

Just beyond my window is
a six foot wooden fence,
a path of uncrooked cobbles,
a green tin shed with a lock
that mocks me as I type. Usually

there is a thrush
searching for juicy worms or
that unhidden snail
sliding his way down the garden edge.
It rained during the night,
perhaps Mr Thrush is sleeping in.

The snails are leaving glossy trails.

Outside my window

A ragged hedge of leafless
for now
shrubs with two suet feeders
in constant use by
a variety of birds,
humble juncos sporting
their black executioner's hoods,
boistrous sparrows
argue with full mouths
and a flicker couple
copulate and call
warnings of invisible foe.
A lone woodpecker sometimes
comes, silent and somber
but for his red crest
and clusters of busy
bushtits bustle up
in gossiping gangs.
Occasionally an un-
identified diner arrives
speckled and drab
as if deliberately
anonymous

when we first moved in she told me
"fix up the inside of your house first
so when they drive by
they will see the paint
chipping
assess you low
taxes are outrageous around here"

there is a burgundy quilt hanging from the
part of their fence with space enough to peek through
since the accident
first it was friends
then family
then the ladies from the church but now
usually Miss Annie's home health care
station wagon stops by a couple of times a day

that place will never get a coat of paint

View from My Window

I see a tree, mainly (I'm on the second floor),
part of the house behind us, but not much,
some sky, a cell phone tower. I think that's all.
The window faces north, so not much sun.

Often, the blinds are down. I do not want
too much illumination. Can't see the screen
as well, you know, the image washes out
in natural light. Why I'm unnatural

and why I might someday rebel. Leave
this lonesome job and perhaps dwell
amongst some friendly peoples. Smile
and lie and talk about our lives, our kids,

and Budapest. I have not been to Budapest
nor, I think, have you. Why that's a lie.
Meanwhile, I see a tree, a cedar tree,
and sometimes roosting crows. A tree.