I sit in the stillness between two lives
Two windows, two eyes to the world.
One looks forward with wanderlust pulsing,
The other looks back with quiet knowing.

The front window, a travelogue in fabric and light,
Orange curtains parted like sunrises,
Framing a blue seat, a launching pad
The place I dream of tracks and tides,
Of oceans uncharted and islands unnamed,
Of salt-air breezes not yet tasted,
And magazines I’d once flip through as a girl
Longing to live inside the glossy page.

It is the window of “What If,”
The promise of trains not yet taken,
And the shimmer of possibility
Painted in sunlit stripes across the floor.

And then, I turn to the back window,
Bare and honest,
Where nature speaks in slow, seasoned syllables.

Spring murmurs first, with its shy rains
And tentative buds poking through the soil
Hope in soft green.
Then summer bursts in loud and full,
Insects humming like backup singers,
Butterflies dancing like they know
This is the moment.
Life in its thickest bloom.

But it’s winter that steals my breath.
When the leaves fall,
When the branches stretch out like open hands
Empty, but not lifeless.
Snow comes not as chaos but as clarity.
A stark, white hush that says:
“See? Even stillness has texture. Even silence sings.”

I used to think I’d be a summer soul
Drawn to vibrance, the full feast.
But it is winter that enchants me,
That teaches me to be bare and unafraid.
To sit still.
To feel deeply,
Without the noise of color to distract.

So here I sit,
Between what calls me forward
And what roots me gently back.

Between bright curtains and bare panes,
Between salt air dreams
And snowfall truths.

A little wistful. A little wise.
Always watching,
Always wondering
Which way the soul will lean today.