The maple tree has fallen. The 20-foot long trunk, still-sectioned for firewood, spans 4 feet across. The meditation room window once framed its dancing leaves and swaying branches obscuring what was beyond. Today, a slight cloud against pale blue sky drifts in subtle motions. Four red-wing blackbirds levitate, the electric cables they perch upon dim through the screen, electric pole out of sight. A flock of Canadian geese honk, announcing their vee flight. Twelve sets of wings flap in formation in a space now open. The viewpoint through the glass remains the same even though the objects of admiration have changed. Always present, they were unseen.
Relative beauty
mesmerizes, shimmers, shifts
vanishes, again.
