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?”.

Empty House

            On a snowy night I sit at home. Alone again. The feeling of sadness and exhaustion washes over me as I look around at my ruined house. There was no grand fight, natural disaster or even a break in, this was destruction from a wounded man.

            Sadness and frustration filled my head and that led to anger. Anger led to rage and that led to destruction. I sit on the floor as sadness takes hold again. I feel like a dog chasing his tail, running in circles and never getting anywhere. I feel like I spend my days beating my head against the wall and when the pain is too much I explode and then start all over again. I do not know how to break this cycle, how to feel better. I know happiness is possible but it seems so far away.

            I dream of a happier day as I continue to run in circles. No one is forcing my life in any direction, I am doing this to myself. I continue the cycle of pain and then get angry when I get hurt. I realized I had a problem when I started spending most of my money replacing my cheap furniture on a regular basis.

            I don’t see any outside help, no one is trying to get into my life, and no one seems interested in helping me. They see me like they would see an old empty house. They take a look, they might even peek their head in the window, but no one goes inside. My life isn’t a shelter for the weak or a place to warm up. But if someone took the time to turn on some lights and maybe start a fire in the fireplace my empty house of a life might seem a little cozier.

            No one wants to put in the investment and so I am stuck doing it all myself. The only time I might get someone poking their head in the door is the few times I get a nice fire going for myself. They see the warmth and want to be apart of it, but if the fire goes out they leave as fast as they came.

            So sit on the kitchen floor of my actual house, staring into the living room at all of the broken furniture. Chairs I need to replace, a new couch I need to pay for. It will give me something to do, something to distract my mind for a little while.

            Until I find someone willing to help me rebuild my life or gain the energy to do it myself, I will continue to feel like an empty old house with broken furniture in the living room.