I stare out the third story window,
Eyeing unobtrusively theblue-green steeple,
Protruding from the sea of tall trees which block theneighboring masonry,
Whose varied shades foreshadow the coming change ofseason,
The stone-washed turquoise tile blends well with the sky'shues,
Linen whites, misted gray, darkened with streaks of ash and coal,
Thesimple quiet style of the steeple becomes a harbor from the gust of fallwind,
And gives a feeling,
Simple yet undefined,
The fallfeeling,
That melancholy mood of gray that moves us,
Drifting,
Fromseason to season,
Canon in D echoes through the corridors of my mind,
Itsmusic becoming a part of that floating emotion,
That I know preceded my crudeinterruption onto the world's stage.