A View

I look out this window my father looked out maybe I don’t know his last years weren’t that good he was probably looking elsewhere inward I guess that’s what I’m doing here looking the mind’s eye spilling ink later I’ll type all this up into clouds of meaning electrons whatever it is that plays papyrus nowadays while out there through the window birches white and tall very old for birches are what ecologists call r-selected birches plus the rest of the trees that make up the forest that will be there after the birches and I and these words I guess and you too are ghosts long gone forgotten this forest I’m happy in the thick of it now these hemlocks dying.