The window

It lies before me, lush and green, dewy and fresh, crystal clear, and I am in awe.

The cerulean blue, the forty shades of green, the shadows tucked in all the right places leave me breathless.

The ferns, bright and free, their fronds blowing gently in the breeze, or twirling madly like dervishes in the wind clutch at my heart.

A sprinkling of creatures like a Disney movie come to life are there before me. The rabbits in the grass, the ducks in the downspout puddle, the squirrels and house wrens, cardinals and blue jays appear as if some great artist put them there.

I do not go out and sit among them like I once did when I had a screened in porch, but it still catches my breath when I look out the window at the end of my apartment. Uncluttered with nothing more than a sheer valence with fern like edging, it is the greatest piece of art around.

As a child I once thought heaven was a rolling field of grass where lambs and calves stood under white porticos waiting for people to walk by.

Now I know that heaven is where I am.