From my window,
I imagine les frères Lumière,
wish, dream of sound,
wrens, lavericks, whaaps an shalders, as
beaks open, muted by glass that
separates us from
their verve,
time to
bill-read and celebrate deprived of
notes, arpeggios, songs…
From my window,
salt smudges clouds, blue,
The Old Manse,
sunsets,
seasons – each shaft of light creates pictures always defined by
criptic skies,
limelight from sun,
my human eyes, stunned cameras in
Shetlandscope caged in a frame
rectangular.
From my window,
life secluded in a fisheye, where
herring gulls turn barn owls, and
corbies re-write their shadows,
corvids, alive, play in
our sky…
CO-VID confined us behind glass, like
a Chaplin on celluloid.
© Nat Hall 2020
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