Was a cold winter’s day and there’s nothing to do.

Same as yesterday, nothing’s new.

So I took a trip to the attic to look for words and a view.

The crisp winter color of sky and water, reflected in deep icy blue.

 ~

The cobwebs hang heavy, there’s nothing new to explore.

Cold and flustered I stumbled back to the steps and slammed the door.

I went back downstairs and took some time to reflect.

Those things worth finding shouldn’t be that hard to detect.

~

Unless of course what seems lost, was never really had.

Though loses always remembered, it’s the forgotten that make us sad.

 ~

I went back upstairs where memories go to rest.

Pushing through the spider’s webs, to that place I like best.

It’s just a seldom seen pane of glass that compares to no other.

It’s a picture perfect painting, painted in the seasons changing color.

 ~

I sat upon a shaky box hiding something long forgot.

Steamy breath fogged the glass creating what can’t be bought

I viewed the shifting shades of pinks and blues that end every day.

Then I shared the chill with the fading sun falling into the bay.

~

Turning from dusk to shades of infinite grays with shadows intertwined.

I lightly step, hands outstretched and leave my little pane behind.

*

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