Saturday, March 24, 2012

I am looking out the window.

This post is dedicated to my friend Tessa and her little boy.

I am looking out the window.

The sunlight is starting to catch the edge of the window, beams of bright light streaming in through the smudged, spotted glass. The windowsill is clean, smooth and white, but the glass has spots where countless drops of water have splashed and little soap bubbles have popped after slowly floating up from the spout of the dish soap, drifting up, up, up towards their escape but meeting the glass instead of continuing to drift outside into the wind.

Two birds are darting through the air, chasing each other this way and that. They are singing, and I hear many other birds singing, although I can't see the others from where I stand. The two little birds land for just a moment on the balcony railing outside our apartment. For a brief moment I feel connected to these tiny creatures as I watch them. They look at each other and look around, resting their little legs and wings just for a moment before springing into the air and flying off together again.

There are many smells blowing in the wind, but instead of smelling them all mixed together, I smell them one at a time, like a dance in the air. The cold morning breeze carries in the smell of a neighbor's bacon cooking, and then someone's burning cigarette, and then the faint smell of cut grass as the lawn crew is getting started in some corner of the yard. I smell cold dampness in the air as the dewy coating left over from the morning fog burns off in the strengthening sunlight.

The sounds of a busy morning are in full swing. Through the open window I can hear car doors opening and closing and the sounds of engines starting; people talking as they walk out of their apartments and down the sidewalk; the roar of the lawnmower around some corner; and birds continuing to chirp and sing. None of it is loud or overwhelming, but each sound subtly overlaps and wraps itself around each other sound so that they are all woven together in a rich auditory tapestry.

There is no need to say or do anything else as I sit and take in the busy scene unfolding right before my eyes. I am peacefully looking out my window, basking in the rich sights, sounds, and smells that surround me, and I am fully and deliberately immersed in the beauty of this moment in time.

I am looking out my window.