Looking Out My Windows

I’m always looking out my windows. I have no idea what I’m looking for or why I think I might see something of interest. My kitchen window faces east and is the one I look out most, probably because the kitchen is where I spend the bulk of my time. I’ve always been a kitchen person. It’s usually a warm and inviting place especially when the aroma of freshly baked bread scents the air.

While gazing east a few years ago, I saw a bear cub trying to get at a birdfeeder. Like any normal person I ran from the window, locked the doors, and called for help. The fellow I phoned told me to stay inside and take a picture of my visitor. I said I was shaking too much to hold the camera. My friend laughed and said good-bye. Eventually the cub gave up, ambled back to the woods, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Last summer a moose wondered across my backyard. At first glance I thought it was a horse, but I didn’t need binoculars to confirm no horse ever looked like Bullwinkle. He watched me watching him before trotting away. Along with the usual parade of skunks and raccoons, a few turkeys have strolled through the yard this spring.

I never see anything of worth out my south or west windows, and I never look out those facing north. I know what lies north—a lifetime of memories because that’s the direction of the old house. The house of my youth haunts me like a benevolent ghost. When I married and moved to Colorado, I dreamed about home for the first 13 months I was gone.

Every night it was the same. I was in the gray shingled house, either playing with my dolls or reading a book. Mom, Dad, and Gram were there, and I felt safe like nothing in the world could hurt me. For months my husband awakened in the middle of the night from the sound of my weeping. His father retired from the Army so Chuck was used to moving. He couldn’t understand why I missed home.

Recently someone posted an amazing picture on Facebook of a dog guarding the grave of his master. Every night the animal returns to the cemetery to mourn and wait. The caretaker won’t lock the gates until Capitan is settled, faithful beyond human comprehension to the man who loved him.

           

Maybe that’s why I look out windows. Maybe I’m searching for something that was lost a long time ago and will never return. Whether man or beast, longing has no expiration date and requires no explanation. You know what I mean, don’t you?