The Journey Inward

A window,
Born from exposure, experience, erosion,
An opening in an otherwise hard and impenetrable object,
A breach, a crack, a breaking open of sorts.
It gives little information about the contents within,
But rather lets us see through,
To what lies beyond,
Both near and far.
Standing atop this mountain,
I look through to the larger peak in the distance,
And marvel at how perspective is constantly changing,
As that mountain seems smaller, more delicate somehow,
When in reality it looms larger than any nearby.

Windows appear to help us see,
That which is happening outside ourselves,
A peek at how others live, how they experience life.
They allow us to turn outward and empathize,
And then perhaps behold a different sight,
When we look into the mirror.

How do some windows get so foggy, dirty, broken and dark,
That those looking out see only their own reflections,
Confirming what they already believe, already feel, already know,
And ignore the plight of others?

A window.

Photo:  Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs, CO.  6.30.23 by LA