Eclectic mixture of leaves stare back at me.
Blades of green grass scream for the lawnmower,
a silent cacophony.
Gravel path for my car to traverse,
one day paved, maybe.
Neighbors wave from across the street.
A gleeful scene,
My window paints a portrait of Americana.
Rockwell eat your heart out.
My window, is my world,
but if only a dream.