Ode to Sill

I see you sill. Just sitting there soaking up sun, why I bet you’d be a bronze berry if you weren’t painted so glossy white. Looking out into the world from your elevated perch. It feels good to be a sill, doesn’t it? The window, why, it doesn’t know what’s what, it’s too shallow, too transparent. But you, silly, have got a solid foundation and strong support network. You’re level, dependable, steady, and eager to support others’ weight when they need it.

I’m going to put a pot on you, with some seeds. You’ll watch them grow. And die. Forever.