Looking Out The Window

Looking out this window
I watch the world pass by.
I look out on my garden,
the mountains, and the changing sky.
My mind is free running
as once again I face this page.
What will come forth from my literal sense
of things seen in my everyday
that reveal the inner me?
What to say and what to save?
For seekers will always be
looking to our words
and words are not the same
to all.
No, words are not the same to all.
I could describe in literal detail
the sky above the mountain ridge
and to another it would convey
the sense of space and solitude.
I could quote some runic rhyme
for those literate professors
that would sound altogether fine,
but perhaps a bit nonsensical
to others uninitiated.
If I express myself in humor,
and make fun of those I see about,
I'm mocking country ways,
and mocking my own self!
For truth to tell
I have stayed here too long
in this country place I call my home
to be taken seriously anywhere else.
So take me as I am:
a woman, at home in her own skin.
Looking out at this garden and wondering
why I stayed so long.
Fastened to this small place
with my window on this my world.
My friends coming to my doorway
for a cup and talk about the news beyond.
What do they know about me,
these friends who show up at my door?
What do they know about me
that they've not shared?
What do they know about me,
they're not afraid to tell?