A Picture that Holds Everything
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I press my hand against the cold, flat glass of my window pane and observe the thin tendrils of mist curl out from my palm and fingers. As I lean forward to look outside, my breath fogs up the glass and obstructs my view for a quick moment. external image 400111006_9a1489f95d_m.jpg

I can’t make out the starts tonight. Normally, they would shine brighter and more prominent than both of the street lamps and house lights combined. Each time I glance out my window—night or day—the same trees, houses, and streets greet me. Across the street, a lamppost stands in front of a thick branched pine tree and beside the post rests a stop sign that does not face me, but rather the cars coming towards my house. The cars travel down Locust and as they turn left or right they proceed on my street, Jamison; the name, perched on top of the stop sign, remains parallel to my window. Yellow lamp light casted upon the fluorescent green sign causes an eerie green glow upon its face.
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Situated in the yard of the couple across the street are my favorite trees. There are two of them—fingers outstretched towards the sheen of clouds hanging in the sky. Standing like giants, they seem prepared to fight off any storm or approach any battle. Windblown air rushing towards the branches and weaving its way through the webbing creates a high whistling whip-like sound. In the summer months, another tree that I love becomes a bouquet of unique and purple leaves. Swaying in the wind, the tree appears nearly life like as its mystic hands wave in the air, causing the leaves to softly rustle. During the winter it simply sleeps, with its spirit embedded deep into the depths of the solid trunk.

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I delight in the occurrence of thunder and lightning storms, for numerous flashes of blinding white illuminate my room in a ghostly radiance. Thunder, when loud enough, causes the window pane to rattle sporadically as if a monster were attempting to enter by scratching and raking the glass with a handful of crudely textured claws. And, when the rain comes, I peacefully take in the musical tap tap upon the screen and relax to the sound. After the storm I savor the opportunity to slide the window open as far as possible, so that I may take in a mouthful of rain washed air, and cleansed earth. My window is a marvel before and after any storm.

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I specifically remember when the sky releases rain in oversized splashes, creating large amounts of water in the road gutters. My brothers fling on their rain jackets and run outside to float their small, foil boats upon the roaring mini-stream. I can see them splashing and running alongside the boats, as if they were gods of the stream, directing where the boat should go. No matter how many times one of the boats sunk, they would return to make a new one, or work meticulously to fix the old. A small, and calm smiled blossoms upon my lips as I watch them, comforted by their obsessive joy. Though they don proper attire, they arrive back at the house soaked to the bone. Happiness erupts from them as if they were kernels of corn, popping as heat is applied to their cups of bliss. Some days, the ideal of once again becoming a young child tempts me to my limits, and I seek my boots and rain coat so that I may join my brothers. In my memories, I view myself stepping upon the rain streaked road. With tingles reverberating upon my spine, I slowly tilt my head back to taste a drop of pure and clean rain water that never had the fortune of touching earth. Instead, it promptly became part of me.

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By night, cars cause shadows to be strewn across my room. With their headlights shining openly upon my window, I observe the pane pattern glide along my ceiling and walls as the car makes its way by. Often, planes fly like fireflies in the distance; their faint engine roar can be heard through the pane during any season. Some nights, I sit by my window when my emotions cause disquiet within me and the minutes of sleep slip through my fingers. I gaze out and observe the moon and stars and marvel at how manmade items act in peace with nature. On warm days I crack open the window, while trying to avoid waking my sister, and breathe in the peaceful and heavily scented air directly outside. Through my window everything enters; light in the mornings, fresh air, the sounds of the city and nature, firecrackers and all sights and sounds important to me.

Upon my window is a stain glass dove that holds a heart by a string through its beak. It always remains one more reminder of those that I love and the life I have lived so far; hardships and joyful times. My window is the one picture that contains everything.

Pictures courtesy of FlickrCC and Liz Carlson

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