For most of the seven years that I have lived in my apartment, the shades remained closed. Usually it was for the benefit of my favorite guest who hated the blinding sunshine in the morning hitting our heads. Not being a morning person either, I closed the shades.
Recently, in an effort to inspire my writing and spectacular (perhaps true?) advice (sunshine kills bacteria with UV rays), I opened the shades again.
My window faces the inside of the building. I see in front of me, my building’s wall, exhaust pipes from water heaters, ovens, and the washer/dryer combo unit in the garage. To the left, the small window from the bathroom. My window and the bathroom’s window are the only un-modern windows in the entire flat, heavy painted window with glass, uneven paint along the edges. A large metal clasp sits at the top of the bottom panel. It never closes quite completely.
And to the right on the adjacent building, I see a window that I never spotted previously. At night, it lights up. The next building is taller than mine. Three stories perching over the two story building of mine.
The sun blares through my window in the morning blinding my eyes. But now, once I have pushed the sleepy moments from my eyes, the words spill easier and faster from my fingers. How did I never notice that before?