Lines of Sight
by Jenny Larks
LINES OF SIGHT
Eye level with the squirrels, through
a nose-printed window, I am seen
by skyward-shooting gray trunks of truth,
far below their cathedral’s height of green.
I blush to remember my first gawking stance,
Grimacing at the dated 70s split-level. Who knew
there was treasure behind cedar and brick?
The straight and tall trees, leaves mosaic set in blue-
Promised this house would be a home with a view.
A robin hops on the retaining wall, looking
for worms under remains of last fall’s showcase.
Freed from the hillside these moss-covered boulders,
unburdened, protect the earth in its place.
Distracted from work, it hits me like a rock-
My desk’s view is in line with the roots.
Hearty oak veins, to eternity reaching, ensure
they – and I – breathe deep of timeless attributes.
Our three-year-old lab tap-taps the glass, asking
for lunch – the kids soon will be, too. Work time up,
I climb the stairs, past gold linoleum and well-worn treads.
Sensing something new, the way fertile soil erupts-
I see acorns sprout from my contented life’s cup.