A Memory of Windows

Is there anything lovelier than old window glass with the sun streaming through it?

It's reflections and refractions and imperfections add such dimension and texture to a generally cold and unyielding surface.

To live in a house with 21 windows and four doors and transoms constructed of that wondrous material was enchanting to me.

The windows were old and drafty...three panes of glass over a single larger pane with old rope-style mechanisms that caused even the most devout to curse at their stubborn resistance to being opened.

At Christmas each year, I fashioned 17 fragrantly fresh evergreen wreaths to adorn the windows with. Four larger wreaths were made for the doors. The four small attic windows remained undecorated. Even the die-hard Christmas decorating enthusiast that I was in those years, refused to climb a very, very long ladder for that purpose.

Situated alone at the top of a hill, privacy was not an issue and I had very few curtains in that house. I liked the windows bare.

The deep windowsills were another matter.

Those wide boards held all kinds of treasures. The downstair room windowsills were covered in rocks, feathers, and little bottles found in the plowed dirt of the garden. Antique books found homes there as well as crayons and rubberbands and all the clutter and chaotic overflow of a family home.

The second floor windowsills were adorned with things relevant to each room...toothpaste and kleenex in the claw-foot-tubbed bathroom. Puzzle pieces and childhood treasures in the children's rooms.

But the three windowsills in my bedroom held cobalt blue glass. Tiny bottles along the top ledges of the bottom windows, larger pieces clustered on the actual windowsills themselves. Blue glass ornaments hung randomly from fishing line filling in some of the panes of glass.



The bedroom walls were covered in very old forget-me-not sprigged wallpaper. Although faded, it was in perfect condition so it remained. Wide golden floorboards went well with the white painted furniture and simple, white chenille bedspread I decorated the room with.

It was a plain room.

Simple and sweet.

Until a certain time of year when the zenith of the sun created morning magic.

And then...

Oh my...

Pink and golden light filled those east facing windows. The old imperfections in the glass started sparkling like inset diamonds.

The glass became radiant and rosy.

And then...

Oh my...

For a few long minutes, the sunlight found the cobalt glass and set it aglow. That plain, sweet bedroom became a treasure chest gleaming with shards of sapphire, azure and indigo. The colored reflections danced on the walls. The windows gleamed and sparkled and light gathered in flashes against the glossy white woodwork like melted tourmaline and quartz.

I held my breath in those moments.

I could not look away. I tried not to blink.

It was so fanciful and lovely...

Like the bower of a Fairy Queen...

Or the light show of a dream...

I held my breath and let the magical display find its way into my soul...

...and then it was gone...

The windows still sparkled.

The blue glass still gleamed.

The morning sun still lit those East facing windows.

But the particular magic of those long moments had dispersed.

...

...

That's the thing about memory, really.

Times, places and faces might seem gone.

We grieve and try to hold onto childhoods slipping through our fingers, through parents closing their eyes for the last time, through saying goodbye to homes and loved ones.

We clench our fists and hold on so tightly that it hurts, when maybe all we need to do is close our eyes.

Close our eyes and let our souls find the memories...


...of something simple and sweet being transformed into the wondrous magic of our lives.

...
...

This post is linked to Alphabe-Thursdays letter "E" for east facing windows. To read other "E" offerings, just click here.