From the Window

An angry sky looms outside as I sit beneath the window ajar. The breeze of spring flutters in by my side. I hear a blackbird sing from afar. It's early morning as I sip my tea, just watching the little garden of mine. An array of colors spread fathomlessly about the space so fine. I look forward to getting out upon my land to mow and hoe the lawn 'til anew. The smells of cut grass and earth in the nails of my hand. Just lots of pretty breathing flowers; weeds are but a few. Then I can sit amongst my window once more and gaze upon the new face of my garden so vivid. Where I smile subtly at the finished work in amour. As I watch the flowering bulbs not so timid.