The fact of my window’s view is a
fir tree
resting itself before
the Chuckanut mountains,
framed with alders.
Every morning’s view also
holds a feeling,
each one different from the last.
On Monday a calm greenness
rested on its sill.
Yesterday my window framed
a grey fog of exhaustion,
while this morning its panes sparkle
as a beacon to adventure.
I cherish the variety from
this solitary window.
Tonight it frames the darkness,
guarding closely a
secret view for tomorrow
