Rooms and Windows

The room I entered seemed brighter than the last. After countless hours of opening doors and peering into rooms, I finally approached a room that invited my entrance. It was a simple room. I felt comfortable with its sweet smell and hardwood floors, and so I remained. The air was filled with intriguing introductions, fascinating conversations, satisfied visitors, small lessons and sweet gratitude.

One day, one of the walls opposite me cracked, revealing a narrow window. Immediately, the room filled with light so refreshing you could drink it! I hadn't seen a room so full of light since a couple rooms back, where the windows were ceiling to floor and wall to wall. Drawing near to the window now, I gasped as I peered through the spotless glass. The ground outside the window was filled with tulips in all colors imaginable! The sky was a cloudy blue, and in the distance lie boats in a harbor and ice-skaters, all in once place! The window was so narrow, I felt as if someone had teased me with a whiff of homemade bread or chocolate cake, with no promise to let me taste these treats. Then, craving more, I pressed my cheek against the glass and strained my eyes only to find a much larger window staring at me from across the happy tulips.

Hoping for a taste, rather than just a whiff, I left that little window and opened the door. Running past a hallway lined with various doors of all shapes and sizes, I stopped at the one door I was sure held the promise I was searching for. I stared hungrily inside, and like the last, it welcomed my presence. The light in this room took my breath away instantly, as rays of color danced along the walls and even pranced on my toes. My body gravitated towards the window. This time, I saw much more than just the tulips and the boats. I saw grand antique buildings, hugging from side to side. I saw people smiling, laughing, and watching their children play in the cobblestone streets. It was a beautiful sight.

I remained in that room for a shorter period of time than I expected. The warm air grew chilly and the bright tulips outside the grand window began wilting. Gray clouds engulfed the blue sky, and the streets became empty. I tried to maintain my optimism, for at least I still had a window and a view. There still remained some light in the room. But I held on too tightly to that light, for one late afternoon while I slept, someone boarded up my window from the outside. I awoke to find ugly slabs of splintering wood glaring at me through the window. The light had disappeared and the air grew cold quickly.

I am leaving that room now. The promise of a new window lingers in the air. I will follow the smallest ray of light until I find another room to welcome me and another window with a view.

Spiders

I peered out the shop window. Resting right outside in its complex web sat a little spider. It was watching the sunrise in the stillness of the morning. I remembered seeing another spider, a few days prior, outside our apartment door doing the same thing. Curious little spiders; despite the early morning traffic of people crossing their paths and threatening their webs, they remained. They didn't scurry in fear of what could happen, rather they stayed close to their homes, soaking in the warm light with reverence. Amazingly, like all spiders do, if their webs were destroyed they would simply build them again. And the next morning, from what I've observed, they would be there again, in their newly constructed webs to graciously watch the sun rise on a new day. Spiders aren't so terrible, they're just beautiful examples of lessons we can learn in the serenity of nature when we take time to observe.