So much comes through.
The early morning sun, brass, slipping through the window panes, the curtains, falling across the room.
The sound of children, leaving their home, door pounding again and again, laughter or tears ; baby in arms, all scrambling into the car.
That certain bird who calls incessantly for their young, morning and evening, like a devotion, calling and calling plaintively; and intermittently, there is a faint reticent reply.
The sound of the car pulling down the driveway, coming to a stop. And a faithful friend, exiting their car, coming up the brick walk, with bags of vegetables and dried garlic and little boxes of perennial roots and smiles, for hot tea and a sitting out, summer and winter, to gaze at the great beyond.
A small blue car making its way down the hill toward the house, four dogs inside barking and yipping, and my own young one looking out the window, this very window, with recognition and delight, squirming and twirling about, barking and call calling out - anticipating being brought into that car of chaos and wonder, and going for a pack run.
And too, this window will soon show the winter full moon glistening like daylight across deep new snow, and the fresh insolent Coywolf tracks between the houses, left in broad day light - Can you imagine them daring each other? The enormous male peeing on the tree by the house, that announces MINE; then sauntering on their way, the consequent animal satisfaction of simply what is right.
When night falls, and from this window , we shall see the bright dancing headlights of my beloved's car, returning from the day, pulling to its rest, and every one of us here, cat and dog , and person alike, all begin their smile.
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