Window Seat

I will never get tired of staring out of my window. Even though it hurts my back and the cheap cushions I bought never stay up. Even on the gray days when I dread going outside, I never get tired of staring out of my window because it reminds me that seasons exist. It reminds me that each day is different, some days will pour and I may fear the outdoors, with its peals of thunder that threaten to break the sky open. Other days may seem ordinary at first glance, but upon a closer listen the wind is howling like a long-forgotten ghost. When I dare to go outside on those days, I’ll find myself struggling to walk, being blasted by forces I can’t control. Some days, the most glorious days of all, the world will be bathed in honey.

Every day I watch the leaves fall and see the world mature a little bit more, growing in nuanced shades. It reminds me that there are seasons of maturity, where life will blow me around and throw me out of control. Where there is a constant quasi-breeze that seeps in through the window and stays buried in my bones no matter how tight I clasp my hands and curl into myself. In the fall the days constantly vary, but the sun still likes to visit a few times a week.

With the winter comes the icy air, too much to bear sometimes, other times it’s the only way I can get a full breath in. There are icy patches and slip-ups, but there are also blankets of snow and colored lights outside my window, decorating the entire city. For all the mistakes and freezing wind, there is also everything I know to be certain and safe and full, every miracle I’ve ever witnessed. The sunlight becomes watery, fragmented and beautiful in its own way, but I find warmth in familiarity, in the communion that comes with these months.

In the springtime, I watch the cherry blossoms out of my window because they too are carried by the wind, playful and light in their nature unlike the calm leaves of fall. The breeze has warmed now and with it, the petals envelop me wholly. Spring has always been my favorite, a season of bloom, but looking out of my window every day I am realizing that the gentle growth of fall and comfort of winter can be just as beautiful.

I always look forward to the honey-colored days and I guess I’m lucky they appear no matter what the season, streaming through my window like a gentle awakening to everything beginning. Sometimes hearing the wind and thunder outside feels like the opposite, abrupt and shaking me awake to a world that I don’t want to face. However, I’m starting to understand both as equal.

I always saw the sunlight outside my window as the foreshadowing to a season of bloom, but I’m starting to see that the two are not mutually exclusive. I’m starting to see that blooming and falling can be the same, that stormy weather brings gradual growth, and that it is the spaces where I seek comfort from the chill that are the most intriguing.




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