ひさしぶり

it had been a long time since i sat at the window with the mere intent to just look at the sky. this time, it was gray-white, pale and pregnant with the not yet visible snow that would eventually come and powder the street below and gust past the street light. the mere objective of sitting there at the window just to look and be made me feel somewhat old. i was in a place where time was long and connected. i was like a giant sea turtle surfacing ever so slightly to see the warm vast sea surrounding it. so much there, yet everywhere you look, relentlessly the same. every corner containing so many possibilities, every crease in the thick, rolling waves; yet, all these things rolling towards some type of oneness eventually - the next wave inheriting its neighbor in its own folds and another indiscernible and identical to the one that had come from a mile away. i thought of if i would do this ten years from now, if i would do this as a mother, a grandmother - ever have the mere reason of just looking, or would it be to see the headlights of a child coming home or to glimpse up at the sky where my loved ones lived? i saw people walking - so calmly - in the sharp coldness. it felt like watching an old movie version of people walking on streets, like the people on singin' in the rain who were no doubt wealthy businessman and wife on a stroll that evening. i couldn't hear their steps or their shivering breaths under their hoods. it all looked so serene. then, i dove back in to my thoughts - through with suspending them, having left my worries and obligations and paper to write out to dry too long - and entered the vast sea which is my life, still looking out the window a little bit longer but no longer from my outlook of crawling on the surface of the sea as a great grandmother turtle.