Lunch

in the not cold sunlight
of a not warm lunch-hour
sitting at a picnic table
I can hear the snow melting.

it falls in bits to wet snow below
making small, short ‘SPLISH’ noises
intermittently like an insect

and I think to myself
that the world has changed in many impermanent ways
but this… this sun, this sky, this breeze that shakes the dry leaves…

this never changes
and I am thankful to travel through it –
the finite through this imminent eternity

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