tinted windows obscure blue skies

so,
climbing onto a hard, uniform plastic chair,
i stood to rap loudly on the window, scaring off two
irritatingly loud crows that were perched there


...a warm green sweater, soft between my fingertips as i turned it right-way-out,
and folded it, trying to be discreet as i placed it back on the table.
no such luck.
at the last moment, she glanced up and thanked me with the usual friendly familiarity
that we enjoy with her.
she is my favorite for a reason.
someday, i'd like to be like her.

home. sitting on another hard chair, this time wood, and not so uniform.
trying to put pretty words to melody
would be much easier with a guitar.
am i backwards? words come so easily, but the music is meticulous.
isn't music mean't to be free?
perhaps i'm trying too hard.

still nowhere near that pedastal, but even so, happyness is present
that's got to count for something