The picture outside my window isn’t really a picture at all – 
it’s in perpetual movement,
a livestream of trees. 

If you tried to chart each leaf and the tiny journey it’s taking every moment
you would find it willful as a cloudland droplet –
each orbiting its tiny anchor with all its capering neighbors, madcap as a toddler on Christmas morning
while the squirrels run down and the birds fly up.

Meantime the deep roots reach and harrow deep
and think and plan ahead, quiet and provident, unalarmed parents of a million whirligig children. 


Photo by David Vig on Unsplash
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This morning, lying in bed watching the window seemed like the right thing to do to mark 40 weeks and my due date. Due dates are rarely birth days, but parents remember them almost as well! – and I thought – “When I remember this day, I’ll enjoy remembering the extra thirty minutes watching the trees in the morning sunlight.” Since my daughters were harmoniously making their own breakfast, I did it.