My miniscule and angular apartment boasts no luxurious features and has only one small window overlooking the outside world. The window is exactly 2 feet 8 inches wide by 3 feet and 6 inches tall except for when it is not. Sometimes the window is much smaller though it has never been any larger than it appears. The varying size of the portal is however manageable and of little concern. The truly disconcerting qualities, the sensations of uneasiness and disorientation, are coming from the things I see on the other side. The view is a clear and basic one, facing an empty skyline with few buildings or really anything at all. Oddly enough I am located in the heart of the big city, surrounded by corporate skyscrapers, condominiums, clubs, restaurants and malls, yet the placement and dimensions of the window have left me staring at an empty sky. There is however the top of a maple and a grouping of electric wires. At night the moon sits in the corner but the sun herself never passes me by. As such the scenery offers little more in it’s usefulness than a representation of seasons and possibly the weather.
The particular alignment of the buildings facade in conjunction with the sloped major road ways and metropolitan tower labyrinths has obscured not only my vision by the ability to listen too. With one of the few open passages amidst the entire urban landscape, the window sits directly in the center of a strange wind tunnel. The gusts travel to and from all ends of the city carrying unusual signals in uncertain waves. The sounds, combined with the rumbling from traffic below, sing through the apartment but bear no semblance to sense. It may sound like a massive parade going on but when I’d inspected, the street were all bare. Sometimes crystal clear conversations take place in this room and on other occasions I could’ve sworn my neighbors were partying excessively. Of course in each of these cases, the noisy culprits were only riding the winds.
Like the sonics it carries, the winds also move deceptively around. Often dancing with the tree just outside as well as stomping throughout my room. The patterns are so erratic that once with a swoosh I’d been blown off my chair. In another instant I battled with a pounding rainfall only to find a mere drizzle occurring outdoors. The opposite is also quite ordinary and days that appear still and beautiful turn out to be frozen by storms. Occasionally the window properly predicted the true conditions, but only often enough to keep me confused.
Even at this very moment things appear quite and the sun is shining. There is little noise and no winds blowing, even the tips of the tree are standing still. No, I won’t be fooled this time, I can see that misty stream of smoke. It is almost invisibly faded, yet most certainly there. That opaque smoke is from a furnace, and the speed with which it vanished must mean angry northern currents. I’ll stay here where it’s warm and cozy, but what if I’m wrong? What if it is s beautiful day? Maybe the streets are paved with music or spring blossoms and I am in here, trapped indoors? You never really can tell from this window. At least there is one thing certain in all this trickery and that is that the window always wins. No matter how I examine or analyze the situation, it incites in me an inspiration to get up, dressed, and outside to gaze firsthand into a world in which one never knows.
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