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The Window Seat
The Window Seat
I found myself looking through the window that day, you know, like I always did before. It was a strange feeling I´ll admit. It must have been years since the last time I sat down on that window seat, just staring and enjoying the view. What a view! Nothing but every shade of green you could imagine spreading through the forest all the way to the endless mountains, with touches of blue running through the rivers that ended up in the Big Lake, which reflected the sunshine of a perfect summer day. There is nothing better but to enjoy the view of an impeccable blue sky contrasting with the pure tone of bright green on the tree leaves.
I’ve been living far too long in the city that I had completely forgotten how wonderful it is not to be listening to the constant traffic noises, unpleasant and most certainly unwanted conversations with people who honestly have no idea of what living truly is, and how little their problems really are when compared with the world.
This old house has been through so much, if the walls could speak, oh if only they could, I would sit right here and just listen to the stories it has to tell. They would probably be about all my adventures when I was just a little boy. Running around the house chasing Nanuk, both covered in whatever we picked up in the backyard or in the forest. Mostly mud though, which made my mother, Susan, furious. You could tell since most of what was yelled around here was my name through my mother’s lips, wanting me to stop playing around. I really miss her calling out my name, or just listening to her voice for that matter. It’s been already six years. Six years since she died. It wasn’t anything dramatic like a plane crash, or a car accident, or any of that sort. She just happened to have breast cancer. The doctors thought they had caught it on time to treat it, but guess how that turned out, there was just nothing they could do. And it’s fine, really, I am OK. You must be wondering if I have any other siblings, and the answer to that is no, I don’t, even though I don’t doubt own would come in handy in this situation.
I take a quick glance at my clock and it’s already 6 in the afternoon. And just as I was headed downstairs I hear the doorbell, it’s Patricia, my realtor agent. I open up the big dark brown wooden door and she comes in with a couple right behind her. She introduces me to the new owners of the house, my house, and soon to be theirs. They seem like a lovely couple, hopefully they’ll take good care of it. Before I left, I went upstairs one more time, I look around my old dusty room, I see my old bed, my old closet, and my old window seat.
