Windows. What I can see from mine, and what that leads me to think about:
Chugach in my sight
Ungulates not fond of snow
Will soon join us here
[Anchorage moonlight image to be replaced]
For some reason I also thought about the homes where I live, many of which have gigantic windows unadorned by curtains, something that perplexes me, as I could never tolerate such openness. With some sort of treatment, perhaps; then I could open and close at will. But to be so vulnerable to prying eyes at all times–that would be invasive and my skin would crawl.
What I see through those windows would, of course, be very different to what others, looking from the opposite direction, would. But what about eyes–mine and others’–focused on the interior? Anyone’s interior. Perhaps what makes this most unsettling is not only that outsiders looking into the homes of others become privy to the most intimate moments occupants experience, but also that the windows provide a camouflage we rarely consider.
Windows. What they reveal.
Unaware of eyes
gazing into their retreat
laughter; unfeigned joy
What they might mask.
Through windows are seen
lovely rooms, rich decor, not
the thunder within
Do windows serve as a conduit between people? Or are we subject to the pathways they set out, not really knowing where a journey might begin or end?
[Mud mirror work window Gujurat, India image to be replaced]
Mirrors of time, they
decorate our lives, cooling
the desert passions
[Gujurat window* image to be replaced]
Memories of what
we see, through time we drive to