Looking out the window

Small square with white blinds
that block the rays from the sun and the outside view.
When opened I looked through it,
The glass cold on my cheeck from the chilly wind.
The sight of bushes with the faint color of summer
Now turn brown welcoming a new season,
And the breeze tilt's them lightly.
The sky is warning us of a light rain,
But the rain never comes for those dried plants from the cold.
With their stem-like arms reaching for the sun being covered by cloudy clouds, begging for a longer opportunity for life.