Bare branches splay across egshell sky
inviting the tiny caress of squirrel feet,
the sharp peck of a bird, seeking.
Parked cars rest, awaiting orders.
Electricity races invisibly
through unmoving power lines.
Rooftops have shed their winter coats.
Skylights blink owlishly at the sun,
unaccustomed to exposure.
And at the horizon, hills
the muted purple of sugared gumdrops
waiting to be popped into my mouth.
Today's NaPoWriMo prompt invites us to look outside the window, record nouns and verbs and colors, and then weave them into a poem. This is my result -- both a description of what I see outside the window, and an encapsulation of the kind of quiet stillness which can come over a residential neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon.