Life1 min read
A Window Left Open
On air moving through a room and the strange mercy of unfinished things.
All afternoon the curtain lifted and fell as if the room were breathing. I had left the window open by mistake, but once I noticed, I could not bring myself to close it.
Outside, someone was cutting grass. A radio moved in and out of tune. The smell of rain had arrived before the rain itself, which always feels like being told a secret by the weather.
I had meant to finish three things that day. Instead I moved them from one side of the desk to the other. This is not progress, exactly, but it is a kind of conversation with the future.
When the first drops struck the sill, they made dark beads in the dust. I stood there watching them gather themselves. The room cooled. The unfinished things remained unfinished, but they looked less accusing in the dimmer light.
Maybe some windows are left open so the day can leave without having to make an announcement.