I walk past my window many times a day. For years, I never looked out for long. Now I stop. I look. I even rest my arms on the sill like an old neighbor waiting for something. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m waiting for. But I like the stillness of it.
The window doesn’t change much, but somehow I do. A bird lands. A cloud shifts. A neighbor waves. The world is still moving, even when I feel stuck. That gives me hope. I’m starting to believe the windowsill might be saving me a little.
