Sierra grabbed the camera the other day and took a plethora of pictures. My favorites are the above self-portrait, Kaia's swanky walk, and my wonderful bedroom windows. Which made me think I needed to add a poem about windows.
Windows by Charles Baudelaire
Looking from outside into an open window
one never sees as much as when one looks
through a closed window. There is nothing more profound,
more mysterious, more pregnant, more insidious, more dazzling
than a window lighted by a single candle.
What one can see out in the sunlight is always less interesting
than what goes on behind a windowpane. In that black or luminous
square life lives, life dreams, life suffers.
Across the ocean of roofs I can see a middle-aged woman,
her face already lined, who is forever bending over
something and who never goes out. Out of her face, her dress,
and her gestures, out of practically nothing at all, I have made
up this woman's story, or rather legend, and sometimes I tell it
to myself and weep.
If it had been an old man I could have made up his just as well.
And I go to bed proud to have lived and to have suffered in
some one besides myself.
Perhaps you will say "Are you sure that your story is
really the one?" But what does it matter what reality is
outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am,
and what I am?
We hosted the Halloween Joy School party today and it was a wild and crazy time. These kids were all so excited. The best part was the indoor trick-or-treat at the bedroom doors. Tristan even got in on the fun.
My parents and siblings came over for dinner (elk chili is a family tradition, but Pop is in Mexico so Mom and I attempted our own version). Then Adam and my Dad took the kids out in the neighborhood while my Mom and I got to visit. We laughed our heads off (only interrupted a few times by trick-or-treaters). I think my Mom is great.
