The illuminating tv screen bares
illusive scenes of the outdoors.
2:40 AM,
the blocky, glowing white text
positioned at the lower right corner of the screen reminds me.
The floorboards squeal and giggle,
with each impression of flesh
as I inch my way closer
towards the firmly closed portal.
My fingertips curl,
grasping the two long and dragging lavender curtains,
revealing the tightly shut mouth of the window.
A window could easily pass as a articulately crafted
take on the human form
or
perhaps,
a face
entirely its own.
Its sleepy eyelids remain shut,
and
unflinching,
through the indication of the lumpy shades.
With the sturdy and gentle
guidance of my
clutched hands,
It sluggishly opens its mystic and wide pupils,
offering an electrifying and unexpected
gift
of an unusually
bright and clear night sky.
The pine trees sway,
as if they are whispering a quiet and kind, “good evening" to me.
I am bewildered at the sight.
Overlays of cool toned shades of blue and
glittering Dust
decorate
the floor of the neighborhood.
The euphonious winds tenderly peck at me with
chilly kisses.
My nostrils fill with the
indescribable scent of the winter snow.
Like sponges,
my gaze absorbs
the twinkling seas of snowflakes
that sit calmly
upon the rooftops of nearbyhomes
that I could never afford.
The choir-like hums of the wind soften,
leaving behind
delicate,
fragmented
abstractions of
melodies from
the clashings of distant wind chimes.
Their sounds reverberate,
penetrating through the open mouth of the window.
I try to guess how many wind chimes could be involved in such a poetic act.
A backstage performance,
they have put on,
just for me.
A part of me almost
pities those who are nested and tightly snuggled in their beds.
As I tiptoe back towards my frompy mattress,
I think to myself that
this is
surely a silver lining to insomnia.