From a window

I’m looking down, 
gravity wrenches my eyes from the Heavens,
in my dressing gown.

It’s seven am.
Lilac haze hangs dapples the valley sides
Clouds of amethyst gem.

Lavender mist,
Ethereal wisps of gossamer wait to be parted
And blush sun-kissed.

The valley below
Waits while I pour coffee and butter the toast.
A dale all aglow.

And hour has passed,
The panorama has morphed into beautiful day
As the weather forecast.

I hold the steaming mug,
And the fresco below incrementally changes
My own prayer rug.

Every day will vary
As the countryside carpet rolls out before me
And I, the beneficiary.

Artist’s stroke,
Changes the painting from dawn until dusk
Flamboyant baroque.

Look down from the pane,
My private motion picture changes reel, hour by hour
And I can’t complain.

My own natural glorious camcorder
How blessed is my view looking down.
How uniquely lucky I am, order
Daily moving celluloid of life out of town.
My cinema on demand, 
From my window.

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