Reflections on a Winter Afternoon
I touch the window glass. Cold.
Inside, the air is warm, comfortable.
It has rained all day and water
has gathered in pools that reflect
a gray, unbroken sky. There must be
meaning somewhere.
Perhaps hidden beneath what
is reflected, unseen in the veneer
of form, masked in the silence
on which the raindrops write
their soft sound on leaves.
There must be meaning here,
deep in the shadows, coded
in the color of trees, the ferns,
flowers and in the muted tones
coated in the cloudy glaze
of a watery afternoon. There must
be something inherent here,
alive within this patch
of what I see and what my senses
take in or there is nothing,
nothing but a beauty born of chance,
mechanical, relentless, mere
decoration to a most exquisite lie.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2024
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