To the north, storms knock at the house,
whipping wind like an impatient guest.
The east clings to its sun,
a stubborn beacon refusing to dim.

Dogs bark and whine next door,
their unease rippling into the air,
while the new day stretches itself
across every restless life.

Birds scatter, wings folding tight,
hiding from clouds that growl
and gather their heavy armies.
Yet somewhere,
a patch of sky stays untouched,
a lonely blue, watching.

Rain falls in soft percussion,
kissing the earth as if in apology
for interrupting.
The sun peeks quietly through,
a quiet witness to the chaos unfold.

Life and people hums beneath it all
trash cans rattle to the corner, conversations flicker with chatter,
and cars rumble past on their path with little notice.
This is paradise,
frayed and imperfect,
offering no grandeur,
just the beauty of being.