Opportunity

The cracked glass forms veins like roads on a map; years of dusty, sticky air cling to its surface, a nearly-opaque barrier delineating space. Cobwebs in the corners have lost their fine, silky detail, growing thick like blankets. White chips of paint flake off the wooden frame like a shattered egg shell mostly held together by a thin membrane, whereas globs that pooled at the base of the sill permanently glue it shut. 

These details are fixed in my memory, as well they should be. I have looked at, and stared through, this tiny window for an inordinate amount of time. The light has dimmed, dulling the landscape just beyond vision's reach.

Perhaps it is time to seek out a new window.