Glass Maze Every jumbled pile of person

Mirrors and Windows

Here’s the thing about windows:

    You could be looking out your window
    At a cold fall of sleet
    At black hills of churned slush
    At huddled shapes trudging bent and muffled through the chill
    At a dim and boiling sky smeared with bilious dark-bellied clouds

    Until it becomes not a window
    But a mirror
    And in the reflection
    Behind your storm-tossed and winter-spent image
    Is another window
    With bright sun and blue skies and dew-soaked grass
    And smiling people standing in clear spring light
    And horizons that do not fill you with dread

And the other window is a mirror too
Just not the one you’re looking at