The world outside my window never holds its breath, nor waits for a new sky. It doesn’t cast its eyes to the horizon, nor into the starry expanse of night in search of a new dream. The world outside listens to these words, these words, clicking inside my mind like birds pecking at seed inside winter’s dirt so black and damp it clings like grief. I shall die while the world outside accepts arrivals and departures at the same time. Now is the only word it knows– now, this moment, whispering light on golden hillsides of the world outside
