I watch the seasons pass
from my window.
I nod to the early morning fog,
to the fading light,
the shadows of branches across the floor.
I listen to the quiet that hangs over a morning
as it gives itself to the coming day.
I take a breath as I walk through the garden,
sniffing the slight and pungent fragrances.
I hear the wind come up and go down,
taking the time it needs.
All these matters moved while I tended to other, important things.
Now, all these matters fade,
along with me,
as I join them, passing on to other seasons.