Page 18 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

18

FROM MY WINDOW

Through my window, I see a tree,
swaying—
telling me which way the wind moves.

Beyond it, a cloud drifts,
revealing where pressure gathers,
where the sky is leaning.

This movement and that mover
I can see.

Then I turn inward.

Within me, the same motion exists—
like the tree, like the cloud.
My mind moves too,
perhaps faster than both.

There is a mover here as well,
but this one I do not notice.

For life, for events, for people,
movement is unavoidable.
We move, and are moved,
until we become still—
unmoving.