through groggy eyes and dog-smeared window glass,
i look out to the garden,
eastern sun pushing through leaves,
highlighting green veins,
catching on strands of silk left behind by nighttime foragers,
igniting red ruffles,
and casting a golden rime over everything,
how many times have i looked?
how many times have i seen something new, something different?
how many times have i missed it,
taken it for granted,
assumed it the same?
as the sun gets caught in the tops of the oaks,
and the light filtered blue,
i look again,
to see what i can see