Inside The Window

I woke up this morning to the delicious wail of train tracks as they screeched and cried their way in and through the lush mountains of Virginia. 


There is something magical about waking up on second floors when it seems your bed is amongst tree limbs on these lazy summer Southern afternoon morns. The air wafts in, heavy and full from the outside hazy shade that begs and lulls you to stay in bed and watch as time slips by. 


I stretch, luxuriantly exultant in the feel of cool sheets against bare skin and subside again into watching and listening the world revolve outside my window. 
Outside cars pass, the train continues to cry until it has spent itself into the distance. Birds call across to one another in whistles and chirps and far off someone does something useful like mowing a lawn... 
But from inside the window I stay suspended and adrift... hanging by a thin thread of serenity and calm - soaking in the moment so that when time and life pull my limbs from homeostasis stillness and into action I can write it down - with some vague recollection of the eternality of what peace feels like when you wake from sleeping with no agenda and only a window to time.