Nature

I often look out of my window to ground myself. The view beholds a tapestry of lush green shades of tall trees, shrubs, creeping vines, untamed grass and other vegetation. There are specs of whites, reds and other colored berries and flowers, browns of the branches and the dirt, glimpses of the light blue sky and puffy white clouds if I strain my neck to look upward. I can see the dancing sun, its charades with the clouds reflecting off of the leaves at times shimmering and too bright to gaze at, then waltzing gently as if to a slow soft tune, dimming the lights for a romantic interlude. It is the only movement I am aware of at first. Then I notice the gentle sway of leaves, the buzzing bees and flies, the occasional birds up on the trees perched up in petulance.