I love windows with a view -
spend much of my life observing from them, daydreaming through them,
in my mind's eye from within them...
of one day..
sitting, looking out at a rainy Paris street scene.
I've never been there, you see... to look out a castle window at white cliffs towering by a foggy Irish sea.
I loved the ordinary backyard view of chickens in old Mexico, hearing mariachis, a lovely rose garden and caves in Extramadura. I've opened a window to hear the soothing song of Hawaii's waves, to see her sunsets.
I remember looking through old wavy glass windows of an old homestead house, could see history, the memories residing therein...a Christmas dinner cooking on a stove, potato peelings, jarred pickles, and quince preserves on the table. Candles in the windows welcomed carolers from the cold.
Stories are embedded in those wavy glass windows and thick walls, of births, birthdays, illness and death. They do not distort the truth.
I used to look out my upstairs bedroom window with a sash, see bold visions of myself climbing into the Big Dipper, sailing boats of nursury rhymes in the night skies.
From the kitchen window with Twinings tea, cup in hand, I've seen raindrops hit, fall, and puddle together over and over again, cats sleeping on their sills.
Windows open to many worlds, their framework a place for masterpieces of art in everyday living theater in the round.
Through the portals of windows, doors, the keyhole of my imagination is unlocked,
leading me beyond the beyond to the unknown yet uncannily familiar future.
spend much of my life observing from them, daydreaming through them,
in my mind's eye from within them...
of one day..
sitting, looking out at a rainy Paris street scene.
I've never been there, you see... to look out a castle window at white cliffs towering by a foggy Irish sea.
I loved the ordinary backyard view of chickens in old Mexico, hearing mariachis, a lovely rose garden and caves in Extramadura. I've opened a window to hear the soothing song of Hawaii's waves, to see her sunsets.
I remember looking through old wavy glass windows of an old homestead house, could see history, the memories residing therein...a Christmas dinner cooking on a stove, potato peelings, jarred pickles, and quince preserves on the table. Candles in the windows welcomed carolers from the cold.
Stories are embedded in those wavy glass windows and thick walls, of births, birthdays, illness and death. They do not distort the truth.
I used to look out my upstairs bedroom window with a sash, see bold visions of myself climbing into the Big Dipper, sailing boats of nursury rhymes in the night skies.
From the kitchen window with Twinings tea, cup in hand, I've seen raindrops hit, fall, and puddle together over and over again, cats sleeping on their sills.
Windows open to many worlds, their framework a place for masterpieces of art in everyday living theater in the round.
Through the portals of windows, doors, the keyhole of my imagination is unlocked,
leading me beyond the beyond to the unknown yet uncannily familiar future.
Oh Kathy..... I so LOVE this post! I was just carried into it (not away by it). I was IN your words. So lovely....so thoughtful....so magical! I especially loved these words "see bold visions of myself climbing into the Big Dipper, sailing boats of nursury rhymes in the night skies."
ReplyDeleteI was looking for a dVerse tag or mention of the site -- so others can come peek into windows too. I may just not be seeing it.
Thank you soo much for posting. I feel like I've been let into a magical place with this post :)
So enjoyed your mini window travelogue. Re: Paris, though. I lived there for a brief time in the early 70's. The view from my window was into the neighbor's high rise apartment bldg. window so that I could watch the man eat his cereal, sans shirt, in the morning. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteOh my...no doubt interesting in its own way :-)
DeleteI like how the imagination is unlocked by windows and doors and how wavy glass windows do not distort the truth.
ReplyDeleteMuch appreciated, Frank.
DeleteThank you for the lovely tour of places seen through the windows of your imagination, Kathy.I particularly enjoyed the Christmas scene of the 'dinner cooking on a stove, potato peelings, jarred pickles, and quince preserves on the table. Candles in the windows welcomed carolers from the cold', which is quite Dickensian. I love the 'wavy glass windows and thick walls, of births, birthdays, illness and death' that do not distort the truth.
ReplyDeleteAll the places you have (never) been. Lovely writing!
ReplyDeleteI like the idea of windows as unlocked portals for the imagination...
ReplyDeleteOh just to think of it what window views gift: "leading me beyond the beyond"...So true.
ReplyDeleteYou absolutely took me away...it felt like fairy tale first then a bit nostalgic and a moist smile...great read!
ReplyDeleteWow. What a special poem - all the views. I especially like the wavy glass does not distort the truth.
ReplyDeleteI love the vibrant images of what you see from the window Kathy ~ Specially like this memory: a Christmas dinner cooking on a stove, potato peelings, jarred pickles, and quince preserves on the table. Candles in the windows welcomed carolers from the cold.
ReplyDeleteAnd a lovely painting and sketch ~
Windows are like eyes - they make us see. I like the beauty that your windows have allowed you to see, and now, you let us see. :-)
ReplyDeleteWhat a sad place it is that does not have windows.
~Imelda