Window Observations
Morning
I am greeted at first sight upon approaching the window by the chirps of a small bird. The tree is so close to my window I am often woken at night if a strong gust of wind convinces the tree to graze its branches against my window screen creating the most unsettling of noises. But for right now only two feet separate this bird and myself, me at his eye level. The vibrant orange chest of this robin can only remind me of the Baltimore Orioles and how my endeared baseball season has yet to get underway within the current situation we are all in. The robin chirps and a smile comes across my face. I remember not too long-ago watching flocks and flocks of birds migrating south for the winter, and his return signifies so much. Not only has summer crept upon us, but this little bird is hope of better things to come very soon. The robin flies away and I remain at the window, I will always welcome his early morning songs if they accompany him with such hope.
Afternoon
I realized that I always look down when i look out my window. This is quite a foolish decision as there is plenty more to look up at, spatially anyway. I look at the sun and back at my weather forecast, “Why is it not warmer?” Clouds begin to roll into the frame, and the sun is hidden. The sky becomes dark for midday and the wind begins to pick up. I see the rain on the glass before I can hear it. The noise off my roof is muted, it is one of those lulling sounds that goes unnoticed until you freeze and concentrate on what is out of the ordinary. I’ve always liked rain when I am not caught in it. It is the quickest way to clear the streets and help people enjoy the comfort of indoors. But right now, the rain seems to be mocking us. We are already inside, yet it thrashes gusts of wind filled with precipitation up against our windows reminding us to remain inside. It seems to be a cleansing process, but there is no view of a rainbow from this window when the rain admits to cease.
Night
This window has become stale. It once was optimistic, capable a curating positive thoughts and emotions. Now it has become a background piece to a rudimentary lifestyle. It’s blinds that once were fully drawn allowing a passerby to gaze through the threshold are almost completely shut. This window has become exhausted, falling victim to a certain time and place. Everything that occurs through the lens of this window has happened before, in fact, probably on a predictable timetable as nothing seems to be moving forward. Like a CD track looping on a long car ride, it goes unnoticed by its numb audience. What will happen next remains to be uncertain, but recently this window has brought no new surprises.
I am greeted at first sight upon approaching the window by the chirps of a small bird. The tree is so close to my window I am often woken at night if a strong gust of wind convinces the tree to graze its branches against my window screen creating the most unsettling of noises. But for right now only two feet separate this bird and myself, me at his eye level. The vibrant orange chest of this robin can only remind me of the Baltimore Orioles and how my endeared baseball season has yet to get underway within the current situation we are all in. The robin chirps and a smile comes across my face. I remember not too long-ago watching flocks and flocks of birds migrating south for the winter, and his return signifies so much. Not only has summer crept upon us, but this little bird is hope of better things to come very soon. The robin flies away and I remain at the window, I will always welcome his early morning songs if they accompany him with such hope.
Afternoon
I realized that I always look down when i look out my window. This is quite a foolish decision as there is plenty more to look up at, spatially anyway. I look at the sun and back at my weather forecast, “Why is it not warmer?” Clouds begin to roll into the frame, and the sun is hidden. The sky becomes dark for midday and the wind begins to pick up. I see the rain on the glass before I can hear it. The noise off my roof is muted, it is one of those lulling sounds that goes unnoticed until you freeze and concentrate on what is out of the ordinary. I’ve always liked rain when I am not caught in it. It is the quickest way to clear the streets and help people enjoy the comfort of indoors. But right now, the rain seems to be mocking us. We are already inside, yet it thrashes gusts of wind filled with precipitation up against our windows reminding us to remain inside. It seems to be a cleansing process, but there is no view of a rainbow from this window when the rain admits to cease.
Night
This window has become stale. It once was optimistic, capable a curating positive thoughts and emotions. Now it has become a background piece to a rudimentary lifestyle. It’s blinds that once were fully drawn allowing a passerby to gaze through the threshold are almost completely shut. This window has become exhausted, falling victim to a certain time and place. Everything that occurs through the lens of this window has happened before, in fact, probably on a predictable timetable as nothing seems to be moving forward. Like a CD track looping on a long car ride, it goes unnoticed by its numb audience. What will happen next remains to be uncertain, but recently this window has brought no new surprises.
Observations written during Covid-19 quarantine.