The View Out the Window

When I was younger I sat on this window seat and watched the seasons pass.

Summer would roll by with its fluffy white clouds and blue skies and lazy afternoons.

Fall tiptoed in with its crisp afternoons and tumbling leaves and pumpkin spice smells.

Winter blew past the windows in a brilliant blast of cold air and gray skies.

Spring arrived with tiny flowers and chirping birds and green grass that smelled li ke a picnic was just around the corner.

I saw it all.

All from my view out the window.

These were the exact cushions I sat on.

They didn't always look like this.

They were fuller and plumper and cushionier.

But over the years, somewhere along the way they shrunk.

Maybe it was all the sitting.

And dreaming.

And hoping.

And season watching that made them flat like this.

It wasn't their fault. Really. They couldn't help it. There was a lot of cushion throwing and sitting and drinking a drink that spilled or accidentally rips with a notebook.

And then there was the whole flipping them over thing in the hope your mother would never notice.

When we first bought the house and I walked up the stairs it was incredible. I walked up the first flight and paused and looked out this window. I couldn't believe it.

It was as if time had never passed.

Like I was about to run downstairs for breakfast.

Like I forgot my backpack in my room.

Like my friends were about to show up in the driveway and honk.