Seasons 
 
What a privilege to be in my room, with the window wide open, watching the seasons pass through. 
 Sometimes i'm greeted with birds chirping, and squirrels scavenging for food. 
 Sometimes it's a staring contest— between me, the fallen foliage, and the gloom. 
 Sometimes the leaves shake with excitement, hard enough the same whispered love notes breeze in too, making the curtains dance with delight. 
 It's not something we're always privy to, because sometimes the sun beams just at a right angle, dampening my skin like morning dew. 
 And sometimes the sky cries after the changes it went through— not out of sadness, but out of gratitude, reminding me nothing lasts forever. T 
here's beauty in everything; it all depends on your point of view.