Through my bedroom window comes the brightness of the dayshine, that boldness that lifts my spirits. The chorus of the birds drifts in as steady ocean waves, only their melody is dancing. In a moment the tune can fly so high and resettle, an auditory version of how they play upon wing. I move toward it, feeling the light reach my skin and my eyes adjust to its brilliance. I let reach out with my hand and lean on the white gloss frame, notice the subtle pattern on the glass of raindrops that came and dried.
Through the glass was the ever changing art of the sky, the clouds that brought infinite images of beauty. There was something in that feeling of gratitude, for all those gifts given so freely, all for spending a moment gazing into the blue. So in those summer evenings, as I rested in bed, awaiting dreams to dance into my nighttime brain, to bring adventures of silliness and mirth, I watched cloud patterns no eye has ever seen before or will again. Come the dawn it was the same, such a casual beauty, transitory and eternal, changing and constant.
Nearby my bedroom window were the tips of trees, a way to watch the seasons change in real time. From the bare wands of the wintry days, to the promise of spring buds and green leaves of the summertime awaiting their golden days. The rest of the room was simply the room, pretty though it was. That world beyond was everything to me and I breathed alongside my cousins of root and branch.
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