I am looking
Through the closed window
At the skeleton of a tree
In the garden
Under the solemn rain
Of a winter day.
There is a sense of waiting
In the solid silence
That hurts the eyes.
I am looking
Through the window
At a beautiful tree in the garden,
Seeing a young virgin bride
Standing with pride,
In a green dress,
Adorned with pinkish white blossoms,
In the caressing sunshine
Of a spring morning.
There is a sense of happiness
In the serenity of the space
That gives the eyes a new vision.
I am looking
Through the open window
At an apple tree in the garden,
So abundant, so perfect,
That seems to have expanded
Beyond the borders of the universe.
Each apple,
Red, round and radiant,
In the ripening sunshine
Of a summer day,
A new born planet
In the green galaxy
Of cradling leaves.
There is a sense of deliverance
In the air
That invites the eyes
To a sweet, dreamless sleep.
There is no journey for a tree
From season to season:
It is only my memory
That divides the ocean of time,
The eternal Now,
Into drops of moments.
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