Idle Hands

I lie on the bed, my eyes closed against the glare of the sun streaming through the windows.

It’s pretty out there, sparkling snow, blue skies, light and shadows,

I don’t care.

Turning my back to the dancing healing rays of the sun I stay inside myself, in the dark, my mood is black, murky, smudged. 

Alone in a silent house, too much space, too much time, idle hands,

Yesterday a bird hit the window, it’s time for change.

Standing I breath deeply, stepping forward to the light, my fingers raised to touch my reflection in the window as I move on.