The View

I'm sitting here Admiring the view Thankful for it's beauty It's comfort It's familiarity. I've been here before So I can close my eyes and picture it still And I know it all. Deep breath in Contented smile Snapshot made The scene is owned Then the eyes open As realisation strikes - I own nothing - I know nothing I don't know how each hill was formed the names of the farmers who built the stiles to every field or the names of those who now own those blankets of land I cannot begin to count every blade of grass to measure the mist to know the age and history of every tree The past of the very bench I'm sat on is a mystery to me The winding roads have their own heritage And I can't say who first walked it's length Or where that plodding bus was built Or where it's been since it's birth The cars stuck behind are heading on their own unique journeys I can't vouch as to where to or where from Far less state the words and thoughts of those cocooned inside Or declare the depth of any of the puddles they pass I can't tell you the wattage of the bulb Shining through that distant window Still less how warm the sun will feel in an hour Or the direction the wind came from, even ten seconds ago The provenance and future of those clouds Cannot be told by them Let alone by me. Eyes close once more I know nothing but the fact that this view In this moment Does belong to me And that maybe, somehow I'm all the wiser for knowing less