Rambles from a window

A display of young and old trees, a path, and the gate.

The oak near the road must be a centennial if not more
A yellow swing has taken up residence there
Hugging the thick branches with it's pearly white ropes
Near the tree, a fence and the bamboo-clothed gate
And me, with the power to open and close it at will
From here
But no-one comes

I don't invite
I like looking out to the oak
Listening to distant birds, the gentle snore of the cat
And a subtle tick, tick, tick
Counting voltages of electricity
And the fridge, murmuring

Some visitors do come
Neighbouring cats, resident squirrels
An underground creature digging holes
A plethora of spiders, long legged, thick, black
Little things with wings

The cold has started coming
And going and coming back
As the darkness of November sets in
The wind quieted for now

There is no storm today
A storm won't affect that magnificent oak,
Anyway