One room, two very different windows, each of individual color and particular perspective. But they co-exist./gunther painting
By Arthur H. Gunther III
This virus stay-at-home has brought back childhood memories of being in the house an awful lot in the summer though building forts in the ever-present woods of a countryfied New York area and taking walks in the cooler parts of day were also routine.
Yet the house was a sanctuary. It was quiet, which to me is daily sustenance. It afforded lots of moseying time to let your imagination run its little legs off, and that happened for me when I stared out the window, usually the one in the south-facing living room during the day and the attic sash at night. Both views included Karnell Street cars passing by, which though a fast route between two major roads, never had much traffic. Quiet.
Those also were the days before weed whackers, leaf blowers and super-sized lawnmowers rendered military-like assault. Quiet.
So, the imagination liked that, the quiet, assured that it could take you on a journey of nothingness, which, of course, can be everythingness.
You read a book, and you are into imagination land, encouraged and narrated by the writer and illustrator. Stare out a window, and you are the author. Works either way.
Chose a different window, even in the same room, and there’s different fantasy, originality, perspective.
Sometimes stay-at-home means takin really big trips — with imagination.
The writer is a retired newspaperman. firstname.lastname@example.org