Sometimes I feel like a painting.
I sit in the yard staring out at the world and the sun is against my face. Casting everything in front of me in a marvelous silhouette. The sky is pale blue with streaks of gold and tangerine between the clouds. The trees still bare from the winter shedding stand out starkly with their black pillars. There's a lonely pine tree standing like the last majestic beast of a species, proudly bearing it's still full and luscious branches. The birds sitting calmly in the limbs singing into the wind.
Silent houses sit like gargoyles inside this town. Possessing worlds within the walls no one else will see. The painting holds every one of these worlds in a window that is frozen on one point in time. I feel like the odd observer painted in off to the side. This time I'm on the porch steps. Quietly looking out into the image someone else is looking in on.
It's peaceful in moments where this happens. I know true peace and they seem immortal. I am thankful for the spring, for the new life budding around me. For the warm breeze that surprises me as I stare at the greatest masterpiece of them all, the world. These things confirm truths again and again about death and rebirth. I turn to nature for the reassurance I'm seeking.
Nature doesn't disappoint me here. Everyday something changes now. A new sprout of sage in the flower bed. More lilies beginning to grow, and there is color in the grass again. It is all new growth. Something taking new life and form for the first time, but from the decay of what lived before. Times ebb and flow in observance through physical matter.