I sit upon a sofa with two windows on the world. The one is black, but I know what’s beyond: a broken world of sorrow and division; a hard-bitten, scrabbling, heartless place; a gaping toothy maw that roars and devours but cannot console. It darkens minds and hardens hearts.
The other is bright bluish white, a patch of new morning sky fringed in treetops gently swaying. It draws me nearer, and I see the birds pass, two by two: matched pairs of geese and mismatched mallards; a scarlet cardinal singing lovesongs to his rosy bride. On the lawn below two cock robins scuffle; a squirrel rifles through the greening grass, seeking breakfast. The morning sun is warm on my face, and when I close my eyes and breath deeply, I know that I live as they do: for blue skies and breezes, for love and a bit of breakfast. A heart beats between my lungs; my eyes drink deep from the springs of Spring; a soul stirs, stretches, awakens.
The black window looms, flat and opaque, but it’s frame holds nothing for me. Truth cannot slip through so refined a screen. I open the window, and the living world chirps and buzzes and greets the new day with wonder and joy.
Wonder and joy…who knew?
We did, once, but sometimes we forget.