Perspective
The lombardy poplars
move with the grace
of a painters brush.
I watch them through the
window that mutes
all sound of the wind.
A flight of pigeons
swoop round the trees
finding no perch.
They seem to turn
in time with the ringing
of the phone in my hand.
A cloud drifts behind
the trees which hide it
with their movement.
I look at my phone,
it obscures the tree
which obscures the cloud.
But the cloud is bigger
than the tree which is
bigger than my phone.
I feel that I am close
to some fundamental truth
about life and living.
But then I answer the
phone and the call
is too important to miss.