Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as the city slipped by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.
As I sit and work from the kitchen table, I see the American flag on the porch across the street flapping. The light has dimmed, and the sky, so brilliant just a few days ago, turns a shade of cobalt blue and gray. There are leaves skating across the porch awning, past the big picture window I stare out of. Some of the leaves are brown, telling me the summer is over. Some are still green, holding on to what remains. But, soon, there will be splashes of color as the internal transition from growth to hibernation moves us inward. After the burs of color, the leaves will pile on lawns and there will be splashing in the crinkly fallen reminders.
Outside the window is also an evergreen tree – which stays green and stands tall. There is an interesting contrast of change and stability, right outside my window.
The wind moves the external around, stirring it up and changing things. I wonder, What internal winds are blowing? What is moving and changing for me? What storms are coming and how do they cleanse and make room for what is to come? How do they change my temperature and humidity levels?