So still, it’s almost frozen,
Though it radiates warmth.
One quick movement of a bird and it’s gone.
Back to the stillness again.
If it was silent I’d think it was a painting.
A silent movie maybe,
As the sunlight dims at odd intervals.
Two birds now, racing almost, but there’s no finish line.
Just round in circles.
Even the clouds seem slow today, like floating candyfloss.
Now nothing moves but the restless man, in the window, who thinks he’s alone.