The Window

The sun has just arced past the porch. The swans have departed east. I’m near freezing as I fought to pen this. Shaky scribbles amidst the gentle winds inviting themselves in through a window. The only window ajar. Sheepishness bounces off the glass. Am I frozen from the wintry breeze or the dismay (I might’ve spoilt something?) Sshhh… The stay is dislodged, I couldn’t wind it in.

My other half is on the upper floor reading Wittgenstein. Right now, I’m embracing his theory for some warmth and hope. I’m buying into his argument if it can save me from my current plight. There is no cause and effect. I might think I’ve caused the window damage, but it’s not real. What’s real are two singular, independent events that occurred consecutively: I pushed the window; the stay was dislodged. One did not cause another. Yes, let it be so. Relieve my guilt.

But my trouble remains. Here I am withstanding the cold air rushing from the bay, my insides shivering. 15 minutes more. 15 minutes more before he comes down for tea, and I welcome him with the truth of the window hidden in this piece and my awkward grin.