From A Bay Window

From A Bay Window

 

The leaves paint a dappled backdrop on the white walls; their shadows cast from the sun, low in the evening sky. Green fingers from the verdant canopy dance with short quick movements from side to side and up and down; nodding yes, and then, no. The dark and threatening storms have swept over the bay to New Jersey taking the thunder and lightening with. The weather has calmed and the cement walk is bleached white again, dry, of the few light showers that were satellites of the mother rainstorm. I read and write by the waning light – message a friend and view responses – reply again. Back to my charge, by and large, gleaning insight, from come what may.

Robert Pennington Price