The Window Tree

A gentle breeze blows in through the open window. The old-fashioned windowpane opened inward, it opened like a small door and the wind was causing the windowpane to tap gently against a kitchen chair. Small gusts of wind rustled the sheer silk curtain and caused the wooden windowpane to sway. The windowpane and the lining was painted white and the wall color resembled a cup of coffee with only a dab of cream in it.

 

            The window was part of an old, country house, it was well maintained but had been built over a hundred years ago. The land was peaceful and folks never locked their doors and on a nice night, would leave their windows open, windows free to sway in the breeze. The breeze rustled the curtains like leaves on a tree, the window pain swayed like branches and the cool spring air could be felt inside the house just as easily as it could outside. The wood that built the house and the wood from the window used to be a tree, multiple trees made up the house. Trees that all had a history of their own before being cut down and since the day that the trees were used to build a house, the wood of these trees gathered even more history. Time leaves its mark on everything in this world, alive or not. When the window was still a tree, it had one of its branches fall off in a storm. The Window tree was the home for a family of birds, a group of squirrels and more bugs than any human would care to think about. The tree had life of its own, but was also apart of the great web of life, woven together with all things.

 

            Now the tree is a window, this is not good or bad, it just is. The wood is not considered alive anymore but it still served a purpose within the woven web of life. The window had been built, painted, fixed, repainted, slammed shut and left open to blow in the wind. The window had a notch on the bottom corner where a young boy was testing how sharp his knife was. It was a little knife meant for whittling and cutting tangled fishing line and apparently also used for cutting a little slice into the wood of a window when no one was looking.

 

            A window doesn’t have memories and wood isn’t alive but the history of the house and the trees that came before it should give you pause. It is important to stop, even for just a moment, and think about where things came from and ponder the stories that a window or house might have ‘seen’.

 

            When going to an old house many people might think, “I wonder if anyone died here”. Instead it is important to ask yourself “Who lived here?”.