Thank you Seasons

Let’s give enough credit to seasons for doing their duty so sincerely. How is it they manage to make you feel that same way every time they do it?



I live on the second floor of someone else’s home.

When I came here I was told to make it mine too, only I’ve failed at it and it’s already been a year or so. Not that I don’t want to, but my idea of home is not the same anymore. I’m not sure if it even exists now. I stopped calling home and it stopped calling me. So that was the end of my longest, most secure relationship and the beginning of something new.

Where I live, we have a big glass window in the living room that reflects our nights back to us. It’s almost mocking, as if always trying to get us to look at ourselves as we are to those who look at us. But we close the blinds because we don’t intend others to see us as much as we don’t intend to see ourselves.

The handful of days I’ve spent here have been different though. When this glass window doesn’t play jokes on me, it shows me what it sees too, like a friend. I think it’s saner during the day. And what it shows me have been my biggest revelations.

Where I live is the most crowded area of a most crowded city. All cities are different but the sky above them all is the same. Only lately I’ve felt that the sky looks at us much too often to not be affected by us, that it’s not the same everywhere, that it too like my glass window reflects back the very things it sees.

I’ve seen the worst drivers here. To torment others when you are clearly trying to kill yourself isn’t a very good thing to do. ‘Excuse me but may I pass?’ Vehicles don’t do that. Should they learn a little courtesy, they’d be my friends too.

My glass window has a younger twin; another glass window. She stays in my room. I’d have to say she’s the better one, she doesn’t play jokes. In truth I don’t let her, I keep the lights off and the blinds undone. I like to let the hostility of the ever noisy vehicles make me comfortable with the idea of hostility itself.

The man in front of my glass window owns a little shop. You’d never see it, it’s so tiny, it’s so un-shop like. He makes tea. My only other friend is the street light because when it lets itself in, I don’t mind it. My most comfortable friend, he helps me sleep. Much like the trees near it, they let him calm them as well. Bring them to sleep, on a vehicle-less night.

When everything is quiet and the man from the shop leaves for his home, I do really hope he has one, I sleep in a cave carved out only for the night, with friends that keep quiet. Trees turn sides, but my glass windows and the light only keep a gaze lest anything bad should happen to us.