Idle Thoughts With a View

Idle thoughts have me replaying the cry of an owl I heard last night when half asleep and swear it flew a silent course through the center of a dream and then, this morning, I had myself picking a splotch of sunlight from a leaf to hold in my hand before it flew away on a sudden gust of wind. Then, off I went to break a sagging spiders web hung with beads of dew and stretched across my path, a sticky wet cling of thread finally letting go to set my morning free. One day, I fear, I shall fold myself up and let my idle thoughts metamorphose into me, taking a room with a view on the second floor of my poetry.