Immediately in my line of sight is a great big tree that stands lushly green in the spring and summer, yellows dramatically for fall, and finally strips down to its bare branches for winter. Just a month or so ago it stood flaming orange against the hot pink sunset and it was stunning. Then almost what felt like a split second later, it heaped all of its leaves into a soggy yellow pile on the earth below it while the sky leaked with much-awaited rain.
At night I see twinkling Christmas lights and, once the sun goes down, a whole lot of black sky. Occasionally a sunset won't breath its usual hot pink and orange fire but will fall cool into dusk instead. Such sunsets highlight the horizon yellow and the sky above it gradients upward from a light blue to the black of the stratosphere. I think of these muted sunsets as the sun's way of bowing out quietly, of yielding to the crisp December cold.
In the mornings the view outside my window is simplest. If the sky is clear, I can see the jagged trunk and branches of the pond tree. And what a tree it is! It grows no leaves all year round and rises stalwartly high into the sky to provide a landing pad for head papa goose to survey his pondy kingdom. I can see General Papa Goose from my patio on most days before the geese migrate south, and on days that I can't see him, I can hear him, trumpeting away at his humble fowl contingency.
Also I see roofs, but those are less poetic. Unless I remind myself of Bert's roof jaunt from Mary Poppins.
So goes the view from my third floor patio, from which there is more majesty than I ever would have expected.
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i'm joining up with the #lifecapturedproject
