Tuesday, February 4, 2014

just write: windmill

The cheerful greenhouse window above our kitchen sink looks out and down into the neighbor's yard. As I do mostly every day, I'm standing, washing dishes and gazing out into the trees and grey sky with nothing particularly interesting on my mind, while two little characters eat their lunch and chat away about something being "too spicy" and something else about their daddy and oh, now one is cracking up laughing because the other is pulling down her pants and showing off her "nakey" bottom.

The vision of a normal day, sometimes feeling overwhelmingly mundane and sometimes feeling blissfully eternal, moments that move in slow motion taking up permanent residence in the mind's eye.

A moment like that happens now, as small snowflakes scurry and dance through the trees of the yard below and my friendly neighbor's little garden windmill turns, turns, turns; there is rarely a moment I look out the window and don't see that kitschy windmill turning. Like time. That windmill is time and every time I see it lazily rolling or frantically spinning, time has marched forward to the beat of its unending, uninterruptible drum.

Now, the scalding water and sudden sister scuffle jerks me back into reality, and I realize it's time to make lunch for myself, too. I tuck the sweet moment away, and when I look out the window a few minutes later, the snowflakes have turned to rain.

Just Write. 

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