11.22.02 light

My grandfather used to sit at his desk in the front room, hands shuffling a worn deck of cards, staring out the window. He looked out across the fields, the apple orchard, the pond. He watched the cars driving by on their way from Keyport to Scandia. I imagine he could smell the inlet at low tide, though he could not see it from his seat at the window.

I have his desk in my own front room now. I sit and look out my window and I can see my tiny yard perched above a street on a high hill. I can see a stand of trees, pine and fir and aspen and oak, a muddle of growth. Now that the wind and rain of the changing season has taken the leaves, I can see streams of light, cars moving down the valley, driving toward other hills. I can smell the changing tides of the bay on the other side of this hill.

share: facebook|stumbleupon|twitter