Windows

I’ve been looking from the inside out a lot these days—windows bring the Light in and they keep us from becoming too enclosed in our own minds—

When we look through a window, we see the world framed, as if we are Living in a snapshot with an imaginary border—I’ve looked out on rain and

Sun and red-tipped maple trees just beginning to turn during these mid-fall Days, these rainy autumn days—and I see a hillside behind my old house, a

Copse of green trees behind a rickety fence—I see through a room with a View, from my new room of my own where poems will grow and words will

Flow—and through this purple-hazed glass, wobbly with age and grace, I see Chrysanthemums, my mother’s favorite flower, wavering through the

Waving glass—I see the years flash as I remember the gabled window whose View I first committed to memory—the rainy day my renewed life began.