Window
Through the window: an autumn afternoon in the New England countryside. Maples and birches in red, orange and gold, a stone wall with pumpkins, a pond with a little dock, a red canoe and two ducks, meadows divided by stone walls, and a little village with a white church steeple and clapboard houses with smoke curling from their chimneys, under wooded hills and blue mountains and a low sun. Leaves drift down past the glass.
It's an old window, and you can handle it: undo its two locks, slide either half open, untie the curtains and draw them, switch the little lamp on the sill on and off, and, with the bottom half open, lean out and look around.
