Outside Time Window Lurking
Ink, and a wee bit of gouache, on paper
Light enters the room only through this window. Years ago, the window shattered when the snow fell from the roof. Years ago, the light crept in, in its downward shaft, catching the dust and maybe my imagination too.
Outside the window, across the yard, is the forest. The forest watches me and sometimes I go out in it. In the forest are many dead trees and in the trees are birds and among the trees is a hill. The hill was left here by a glacier, long ago.
The forest watches me. Through the forest, the hill watches me. Before the hill, before me, the glacier watched. When I look out this window, time looks back at me, time watches and passes. I don’t mind.