My phone says good morning to me, beside today’s temperature

there sits a happy golden sun throwing beams like an Egyptian glyph.

Past my phone, outside the window, the sun plays on the tall trees

where invisible birds peep and a breeze animates the leaves.

Of course it’s nothing my phone could convey (ignore the fact I’m using my phone to write this),

and often I have to just put the thing down and go outside to look around, to be a part of it.

I always feel better when I do, but then I come back inside to see what I missed,

and whatever trick of the light there was has now changed.

Categories: poetry, writing

Tags: mindfulness, poem