I’m sorry, Miss Casey! When I was in high school, my English teacher gave us an assignment to write about what an old dictionary stand in our classroom saw. At the time, I did not appreciate the idea of anthropomorphizing that hunk of wood. (I might even have grumbled about the assignment.)
Now, as I look at this old window, I wonder what it has experienced through its panes – both from the inside and from the outside. What scenes? Emotions? Activities? Injuries? Does it feel the freezing pellets of sleet pummeling it? Does it feel the warmth of a sun’s rays? Does it crave a spray of Windex – or does it prefer being darkened, hidden, unobtrusive?
This window is tucked inside a small building in Camden, Maine overlooking the harbor. So certainly the windows in the structure have seen what we saw there: birch trees, grass, and stone walls on the park side; ship’s masts, cruise ships, and roaring waterfalls on the harbor side.
What other mysteries has this window seen - with its cracks, cobwebs, and peeling paint, all testaments to its full life?