Temporary

I live in two places. 

This one is temporary. 

I sit at a desk in my room looking out a window towards a fig tree and tall white and purple oleanders. Here and there I hear the footsteps of cats walking on the rooftop. In fact, I even hear a cat scratching at something near one of the 3 doors that lead out of this room. 

I look out the window again. There's an opening out to the ally where there was once a tree. I see a cat limping slowly across the pathway, as to say, "there's a whole world out here, and you hardly know anything about it". 

These cats that roam around here, naked, bruised, bleeding, belonging to no one... I appreciate them. I appreciate their "wildness". It's as though there's a jungle outside my window. What amazes me, is the leisure of a cat. They lay in the grass like everyday is a Sunday afternoon. They don't know what the hell a Monday is. They don't even know what an afternoon is. They're timeless. But they know night and day well. 

It feels nice to dwell. To dwell in a home, regardless of its temporary nature. To dwell on life. To dwell at the world outside my window. I feel grateful to not have to run from wolves. 

Oh... to dwell.... 

This home is so temporary and transient, that I feel like I am hovering here. My roots know that they're not meant to dig here.