Through the Window Glass

If you scroll back one day in this blog

you'll see this same view

in

different weather

and if you were to lean in closer

on this snowy day

you'd pass through

the window glass

and be right here

right now

. . .

xx

Inside Out, Outside In

Shadows on an upstairs railing

mimic the slim trees outside

stretching upward

and

the cold clear waters of the pond

mirror the pure perfect blue 

of the sky on this cold windy wintry day

in Maine

and the sun
that floating white light orb
(can you see it?)
is a reflection


entering the window behind me
and flinging itself into
the sky opposite
and bouncing back inside
onto my small head

I don't know if I am
outside or inside
sometimes

xx

Writer at the Window

One great thing about rain is that it makes it easier for me to stay at my desk and work.   The lure to be outside in dry weather--warm or cold--is great.  That my desk now faces a window with a view of lake and trees, of birds and squirrels and chipmunks is sometimes a danger ('Come out, come out'), but just as often, staring out the window seems to realign the tangled circuits of my brain. 

In our many years in England, we lived in charming 300-year-old cottages, but the hardest part of living in them was their darkness:  low ceilings and tiny windows. You have to get right up to the window to peer out. You are begging the light to enter, but it does not enter, and so you have to flee for the outdoors before you go mad.  

Well, maybe not 'you,' but me.

Through the Windows


More charm of England:  thatched roofs (see top left quadrant of window), gates, brick paths, holly hedges. The hedges offer some privacy; the little gates say 'welcome.'  The thatched cottage (built in 1490) seems to say, 'People come and people go, but I am still here. . .'

So small the windows of our own cottage and thus so dark inside and so like a cave.  Outside: a tidy, manicured world.