Meditation 27

Behind a glass pane

The Earth spins around the sun

And I sit right here

Saplings grow and die

Just as the tides ebb and flow

And leaves change colors

But I am not there

Walking among the birches

Laying on the beach

My roots are planted

Beset by brick and asphalt

Inhospitable

My only window

A glimpse of the external

My only freedom