Just a waiting screen. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– “The Art of Waiting” I sit in stillness, time unfolds, A quiet hush the moment holds. The clock ticks on in patient grace, While shadows shift and lines erase. The breeze that taps against the glass, Whispers gently as hours pass. A leaf may fall, a cloud may drift— Small signs the world begins to shift. Hope is quiet, not always loud, It wears no crown, no cheering crowd. It lingers soft in breath and bone, A faithful hum when I’m alone. Each second builds a bridge unseen, Between the now and might-have-been. And though the wait may stretch and bend, It has a start, and has an end. So I will sit with open hands, Accepting what I can’t command. For waiting is a kind of art— A gentle strengthening of heart. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– A bit cheesy, I know. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– You can look at each clone, or you can watch the peak go left to right. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
