15 April 2023 (switching)

switching out

storm windows for screens . . .

riversong

30 August 2021 (end)

end of August

our windowbox flowers

block out the sky

1 March 2021 (window)

night window

behind my reflection

the wind

27 December 2020 (window)

cracking a window

for a breath of fresh air

midwinter

April 10: Gallery

art gallery window

framing a flock of pigeons

across blue sky

May 3: Absent-minded

A crack in the blind--

I forgot about the moon

until it shone through.

Posted with Blogsy

February 24: Inspiration

If not for squirrels

would the cat leave her bed?

What gets me up?

 

Posted with Blogsy

October 3: Window strike

Despite my best efforts with string and ultraviolet window stickers, something about our office windows, especially in the fall, seems to draw birds in. I hear that sickening thud of a small body hitting a window and then hold my breath as I rush over to see if there's a bird on the ground or not. Today's window strike appeared to be a goldfinch, which fortunately survived. I've held other birds in my hands, tiny little feathered bodies with rapid heartbeats, until they could perch and ultimately fly away, or until they died.

That feeling when
the bird that struck the window
flies away--

March 25: Window

I left work late tonight feeling brain-weary. Driving through the deep blue twilight, heading not home but into town to complete one final errand, my eyes were caught by the comforting sight of a yellow-lit window glowing in a little house tucked against the dark bulk of Mount Battie. That illuminated square promised warmth and rest. For a moment, I wished that were my home. For some reason, no other window on that street offered quite the same welcoming glow. My emotions had been manipulated by a sort of living Thomas Kincaide scene. Sometimes it's OK to give in to that kind of thing.

Twilit, chilly night.
How comforting the window's
glowing yellow square.