Old windows

As I look at my front yard from inside
I see the garden and children on scooters
growing.
I blur.

The man told me today that

my windows are old.

New is better looking and more energy-efficient, he said.

My grandmother’s house had blue-trimmed windows, and white-washed walls.
Those days I used to spent under the grapevines
with the thickest books in the library,
and in crystal clarity.

A time long past.
So long past that
I am starting to doubt
its veridicality.
After all, just because
something is old
it is not necessarily better.
Although the Gouda in my refrigerator
will beg to differ.

Slide and release the power switch to wake.

The sun seeps through sheer white fabric
and makes shadows on the screen of my e-book reader.
Chirpy voices.

Calm.
I slide and I release.
I close my eyes.
Each day
new,
and better,
if of debatable energy-efficiency.

(This post is the result of a Mystery Ending writing challenge from the Daily Post, in which I was challenged to participate by my friend Charity of Imperfect Happiness. Go and read her very thought-provoking post on the unfair rules we teach girls “for their own safety.”)