The View from My Window

This came from a writing prompt: Describe: The view out your window (light, shadows, colors, the look of the sky, the look of the ground, what’s there). I felt guilty right away, because I have a lovely view of nature right there. There’s so much going on, if only I would pay attention. But what do I pay attention to instead? Email, Facebook, funny memes of cats. The latest gaffes of Donald Trump. Superficial me! Lazy me! Unimportant me! (Unimportant because I am not contributing meaningfully to society).

In my office, I have a sliding glass door
but I don’t really look out of it
I should, though.
It’s art. Nature’s art. With Nature’s Natural Lighting.
It’s Nature’s Wild Riot.
But I do listen. I do hear.
What I hear mostly is the rhythmic songs of birds.
Or a cat wanting to get in. Or the soft crackling steps of a wild animal.
I keep thinking the view should inspire me
to write, philosophize, save the world…
and it does inspire me — momentarily.
But I do not end up doing any of these things.
Sometimes, a deer will walk by and we’ll lock eyes,
acknowledging each other’s existence in the world:
the deer’s right to graze upon foliage,
my right to sit here and do nothing.

©2015 Frances Osborne Austin Texas