Growing Panes

The sky through my window is blue. The bright, morning sunshine peeks through the leaves of the tree stationed like a benevolent guard just outside. It fills my room with happy morning light that makes my still sleep-heavy eyes squint in protest. Birds sing while I make my bed and search through my drawers, looking for fun socks and comfortable pants to wear. I don’t have time to look out as I sit at my desk, only just on time for my 8 a.m. class. But I hear them chirping.

The sky through my window is gray. I look up at it as my mind wanders from what my professor is saying through my headphones. I hope that it will blow the fog of Zoom-induced lethargy away, but it is dull and flat, unsympathetic to my woes. Clouds march by as the hours pass. I work on my problem set, looking up at them occasionally from my increasingly odd seating positions. Inevitably, I end up sprawled on the floor, my textbook just barely illuminated by the thin light that the afternoon provides. 

The sky through my window is purple. Wisps of white and gray stripe its rapidly changing background, and the stone walls of Mertz glow lazily in the golden light. I shake myself from a daze of note-taking as the fear of being late for my Sharples reservation sets in. The wind rustles the tree and it adds to the chatter of my friends in the hallway, gathering for dinner and a much-needed break from work. 

The sky through my window is dark blue. I set down my backpack and turn my desk lamp on. The clouds are barely discernible in the waning evening light. They clear away as the air turns cold, and I put on layer after layer of clothing, bundling myself until I am an onion made of sweaters and blankets. The stars twinkle in the heavens while I draw flatter, less glorious parodies of them in my Astronomy notebook. The insects begin their nighttime chorus and I find motivation to finish my homework in the view of the moon and in my stolen Sharples cookies. 

The sky through my window is black. I stand on my window seat and carefully pull down the blinds, taking my time to ensure they don’t fall down and crush my plants sitting innocently on the sill below. I say goodnight to the world as I shutter myself in, turning my room into the ghost of a darker, windowless basement room I used to call home. But I know the sky will be there tomorrow, watching me laugh and cry, providing me light and warmth, changing as the days pass but still constant. 

The sky through my window is blue. I look out at it in the space between sentences. It is so blue. I think if I look too long, I may never stop. The sky through my window is blue, and it reminds me why I learn, and why I laugh, and why I love. The sky through my window is blue, and I think that to have a window makes me the luckiest person in the world. And through that window, the sky is blue.

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