The Window


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My last full day in my home and the small New England area where I’ve been for 20 years broke to drizzly skies and patter of rain out of my bedroom window. It is a window at the head of my bed whose scene wakes me every morning I arise. The seasons turn through that window–from the buzzing, blooming, brilliant days of summer; views of small trees heavy with fruit and painted with warm colors of autumn; or the swirling fury of the blizzard beating at my screen making my yard a winter wonderland; and finally to the tender shoots and leaves of spring time.

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I took my usual walk despite the gentle rain, my lake seeming solemn. My trees appeared to weep thus making me cry. The lake brought me such peace. It’s beauty and secrets: the loons mournful cries, the solitary heron and mallard pair returning each year to greet me. Each with their lessons for me about flying solo and about love. Each sunrise and sunset utterly beautiful, no material gift could match. And the tender quiet that I know I may not find where I am going.

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On the road was a bright red salamander brought out by the dampness. Of course I had to save two today from being squished. It is like a fire dragon and filled me with the hope of sun and a bright future.

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With every new journey, we leave something behind. Through every window, we may see the day ahead, but we also live within the house on the other side. Tomorrow I leave that house and head toward a new one.

It will have new windows and new days for me to embrace.

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