My Windows

Through my bedroom window, sunlight pricks my eyelids and wakes me each morning. Until the virus attacked us, the window was just a pane of glass.  Now it's a link to the world, a tenuous one at that, but still a connection.

My window affords me three views of the world that's inching along without me.  If I look down, I can see the black-shingled roofs of the apartment complex next door.  If I lean my forehead against the window and look left, I can see the edge of the nearby bayou. and recall the year when Hurricane Harvey slammed into Houston.  Water rushed over the banks, turned streets into rivers and covered lawns with water that reeked of sewage and forced its way into houses where it demolished furniture, drenched books and destroyed treasured mementos, leaving Houston in a soggy mess.

If I look straight ahead, I can see the buildings of the Texas Medical Center the largest medical complex in the world.  Hospital beds are scarce now, with virus cases roaring through Texas.  

To the right I see NRG stadium where the hapless Texans play football and, predictably, deny Houston's yearly dreams of a Super Bowl appearance.  To the left are buildings surrounding the Galleria where I could shop or browse in pre-COVID days that seem so long ago.

Upward is the sky hazy gray pale blue or on some days obscured by threatening black clouds that I hope don't portend another hurricane.  At dusk I watch the city's light blink on, and I imagine lives going on in other buildings. Are people there happy, hopeful, afraid?  How has the virus changed their lives?

I prefer to look up at night when stars sprinkle the sky and the endless view reminds me how small Earth is--a pale blue dot in a limitless universe.  How small our troubles seem when I gave skyward.

On summer nights when I was a child, my cousin and I would sit on the sidewalk when the heat wore off and fireflies twinkled on the lawn behind us.  We would watch for Venus, the evening star, and make a wish.  I don't remember what I wished for, perhaps to win at jacks or hopscotch the next day, but those nighttime memories remain, along with the scent of newly cut grass, the rough bark of the willow tree I loved to climb, the slap of water against my skin as I ran through the sprinkler.  Then, summer days wer endless,  hot and sweet.

I have another window to the outside world--technology.  I love the little windows on Zoom, where a group of friends meets every afternoon at 4:00 to share what's going on in our lives.  Not much these days but it's a joy to see faces we can't see in person.  Last week we shared a virtual toast to better days ahead.

Zoom gives me the pleasure of listening to lectures or concerts.  I've hosted a birthday party, visited my children on Mother's Day taught a course in writing legacy letters for the nearby YMCA and had a telemedicine appointment for my annual checkup.  Last year I'd never heard of Zoom.  Today those tiny windows are a connection to the world.

Robin Williams said, "There's a world out there.  Open a window and it's there." Tragically, he closed his window too soon, but he left us a mantra a guide us through these difficult times.