the window

The tall, narrow glass window at the far end of our bedroom is a wellspring of so many reverie and latenight ponderings. The old window is covered with flimsy cream curtains, because I am a curtain woman. It was one of the major decisions when we first moved in- my husband would have preferred blinds, but I chose curtains. During the day, I open the curtains a little and floods of light come in, washing the whole room with bright sunshine. And then at night, it reflects the lights from outside, giving it a tranquil, by oneself mood.

On quiet early summer evenings, I sit on the edge of the bed and I could see top of the trees and the clear blue skies through the old window. And when in bare feet, leaning close to the window, sometimes pressing the side of my head against the window pane, I see the street below, with cars scurrying in hushed urgency. From our fifteenth-floor spot, I could see the world below, and heavens above from that tiny cranny of this old window.

Each night, before I close my eyes into deep sleep, the window somehow illuminates my thoughts and take me somewhere remote and whimsical. The lights seem to dance and the sound from the outside world barely audible. Lying in bed on my back, if I lift my feet it obscures the light and my feet seemed to fit the whole frame. I welcome the unopposed solitude the window unveils.

I have witnessed the seasons change through the window. It was late summer when we moved in. The trees I saw were still green and abundant. Then it changed to bright orange and then to brown. It was such a wonderful, flaming sight. And then, it fell one by one until it was bare. Each wintry day I woke up, and I gazed through the window, I always hoped the trees will be flourishing green again... The warmth and eagerness of spring were arresting as seen through the window . Now it's summer again.

When I step into the bedroom at night, with the soft curtains drawn and aglow with the lamplight, the window seem unassuming. Forlorn. Unimportant. But most of it are untrue. The window, with its simplicity, is a threshold of wonder, hope, joy and boundless freedom.