Sitting here looking out the window, wishing there were fewer clouds. More blue, more sun. The house was cool this morning, and I was hoping for enough sunshine for the solar to run. It’s not looking promising though. I don’t want to turn the heat on yet. Plus, I still haven’t vacuumed the baseboards, so I’d have to put up with the stench of burnt dust. Although even when I vacuum there is no way to completely eliminate the smell.
Only one small patch of blue remains visible above the chapel roof. The wind has also kicked up and the crabapple leaves are tossing in the breeze. The colors out my window are less vivid than I remember from last fall. The ivy on the chapel seems less red and more brown. The honey locust leaves seem less golden and more green. And yet both are falling already, so it seems unlikely they will continue to develop more intense color. Maybe the photos in my mind from last fall were shaded by Instagram filters. It seems everything is these days.
I love this view. I could stare out the window for hours. And yet I would give it up in a heartbeat if it meant never having to come here again. Freeing myself from this toxic environment. I would miss this view. I would miss the pigeons that settle on the top of the chapel dome. They are absent this morning, as are all of the birds that typically enter my viewfinder. I have always liked pigeons. Why others harbor such animosity towards them is a mystery to me. I had a pet pigeon once when I was a child. At least, I think I did. Memories, they are slippery things. Why would I have had a pet pigeon? Where would I have gotten it? Did it really get eaten when it was being cared for at someone’s farm while we were on vacation? Fantasy or reality? In this case, I really don’t know.
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This is my first installment of Just Write, "an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments." You can read about this project at The Extraordinary Ordinary. If you decide to participate, you can link up on Heather's post from today.