The Window

When it's sunny the view outside is a vibrant blue covered in the odd wisp of a cloud's tail. My mind envisions the floating house in the movie Up.  For a split second I swear I can see the thin thread of a balloon hovering next to the dirty glass.

At night I sit in bed and feel suffocated by the blinds. I long for a solarium that I saw in England or a big sky light. Part of me just wants to sleep outside and try and decipher which of the blinking lights are stars and which ones are satellites and planes. The magic at this time of day is looking out into the distance and seeing the yellow, red, and white blinking lights of the city in the horizon. It comforts me to think that there are many more good times ahead in the future.

In the winter, the street is blanketed by white powder and the tire tracks of the neighbourhood. I still remember looking outside and seeing the icicles drip off the rim of the light post; frozen in suspense. Hours later they grew bigger as the drops falling from the sky joined in on the fun. The only thing that ever worried me about them was the sharp point at the end. How could something so delicate and beautiful still be so lethal?

Occasionally, you come across the odd dog walker or kid with a Slushie walking by. In the spring, there's a teenage couple that seem to walk by after school. They hold hands and talk and mill around the electric box. How romantic. Yet it doesn't stop me from dreaming up Romeo and Juliet type story about them. Maybe it's the dreamer in me.

There's just so much to see in the world. Windows are like paintings. They always show the same view but there is always something else to see or look at that you didn't notice before.