Daily Musings

Funny what you see , with new eyes as the dusk falls over the old town . The perennial winter sky , still with enough radiance to bring the vivid woodland a touch of illumination . Little orange lights convey vitality to the youthful eye , but to I they send out messages of interval, isolation . I catch a glance of a leafless sycamore , as long as I recall the tree has been dead , its roots apparently still strong , 60 feet tall. I see a nest clearly now , before faint almost imperceptible . One wanders if the nest has been dead as long as the tree , the previous inhabitants , harmonious no doubt among the cacophony of a distant morn .