A good window may not aid in inputting all of this data. It does not help me to focus to watch the snow turn to rain turn to snow. Like a cat, or a bird, or my own sweet Vista, I look out and imagine the green grass on the either side of the glass.
And yet... something it helps. I wouldn't leave it and haven't left it all day.
Save of course for the moment or two (or forty-seven) when I ventured out to the other side to see if the wind howled louder in my imagination or in the real life out there. Real life usually wins in these situations and I assure you it won today with howling snowsleetrain.
Now I am back behind the glass. Watching water poke holes in the white ground so the earth can stare back at me. I am surrounded by living plants that could not survive without a good window to protect them from the cold harsh Alaska. Living plants that could not survive without a good window to let in the scant light from the cold harsh Alaska.
I am nose deep in whale tails that may or may not still be in the cold clearing waters just past the trees. I'm told if you stand outside at night you can hear them breathing from the porch. But I have on soft slippers and they get wet if I stand outside so I trust the boys who heard it themselves keeping company breath for breath with the whales. Each exhaling visible breath into the air- only one is steam the other smoke.
There is even a light underneath this window. Giving me reason to stay past here past the 3 p.m. sunsets that might otherwise herd me toward the warmth of my bed. After all, Vista's in bed. She's been there all day (save of course the 47 minute interlude mentioned above- where she ran and ran. Though you wouldn't know it from looking at her that any energy lurks within the pile of blankets she hides under). So here I sit.