Looking out the window, even though the scene may not be changing,

It somehow encapsulates me. Trapping and drawing me in further into a world I am not even part of;

Or am I?

Observation was perhaps just a first step, in the holy longing of exploring.

 

It never seems to get old, at least for myself,

But my eternal gazing does irritate some;

“What do you see that’s so interesting” others bark, annoyed by the delay now incurred in our progress, “Can’t you get a move on”…

Explanations are trees without fruit, for the reason is beyond the logical of reason, rather firmly resident in a heart.

 

There is something in the vista unfolding around me, and if I listen with my eyes I might hear it.

The secret conversation which bubbles away below the surface, the one which will show me the meaning of the scene,

Or my own motives,

Perhaps my own life.