Windowsills

I walk briskly
the city lights change
the traffic moves at steady pace.
It's all smiles and business these days.
The schedule continues, almost taking off without me.
I just follow the bread and butter I set up before...
I turn onto the quiet city street.
a detour if you will.

I pause and stare.
There they are, wine in hand, friends, appetizers.
The tv is on. It's only 8pm. They are in for the evening.
But they still wear their sweaters.
And why shouldn't they be on this cold winter night?

I pause and stare.
They have red walls and distinctly different candlesticks.
Perfect photography, black and white, hung dilligently.
Most likely newlyweds in a two bedroom. They probably even have a study.
It reeks of sophistication. (In a good way).

I pause and stare.
Bright lights on white walls.
Stencils and posters.
Ikea bookshelves, lots of books, pictures.
Two women talk on the couch, gripping tea mugs
in lieu of their laughter. The movie they were watching is glaring, alone.

I pause and stare.
Third floor. I can only see a lamp, white paper shading, circular and soft.
He probably lives alone.
A lone painting hangs on the brick walls.
The futon is below it.
I can't see him because he is probably writing or reading or drinking culture somehow.
After dinner he takes nurturing baths and turns in early.
A sure sign he will avoid fatigue at work tomorrow.
He loves the el and treasure his morning commute to the box that takes him to the bliss of urban acquired economic status.

I pause and stare.
She quickly fills in the calendar on the wall.
It's all about the schedules.
Her son is tugging at her apron...
he wants a snack before bedtime.
She perches him at the breakfast bar and smiles...
brushing her tossled hair from her eyelashes, she announces the options.
You can almost sense how lucky she feels to have this full time job.
There is a calm vibe that almost jumps out of the windows from this one.

I turn the corner.
Down the alley and onto the sidewalk.
The leaves are embracing the snowfall and the street is making water out of ice.
My boots get wet but I don't care.
My keys jingle in the lock, struggle to make an entry.
No one has been here today but me. Only me.
I throw down the tangible wieghts of today's obligations.
Shed a bit of dead skin in a moment.
Walk over to the window, drawing the shades.
As I let the white lines fall, I look out into the courtyard.
Somehow, the bunnies hop with consistency in this urban playground.
They always find their way back.
I look up and notice the light is on in the apartment that produces loud
spurts of passionate opera music in the summer and fall mornings.
My eyes lower with the shades and I catch the last glimpse of the pathway to my refuge...
the grass is always greener.