Movement in a View

The seagulls glide past 

turning over

upside-down 

and backwards, 

like leaves, furiously tossed about

by the icy cold North wind. 

The wimple-flag contorts 

wrung-out in shapes, 

doing a runic dance 

against the back-cloth of the pale blue sky 

and the white clouds; 

all the while we stay indoors 

watching, 

watching the drama of the weather, 

warmed by the sun 

unaware of the icy wind and 

cosy in our Winter clothes. 

The hills look unmoved by the scene 

ever still in the meditational changes 

of their coats 

of trees and lakes, 

houses and people walking, 

mice and moose.

The thermometer goes through the greatest changes 

shooting up in the midday sun 

to heights undreamed of 

in the Winter months of Norway. 

Then the sun goes down, 

the temperature drops, 

the wind drops, 

the seagulls go to rest 

while all the while the mountains are still, 

so still, standing as they always do 

only changing so -- slowly 

that in one lifetime 

we notice nothing.