Hugely Splendiferous

We're in the last throes of winter. Winter doesn't know it quite yet; that season has a tendency not to want to know what it doesn't want to acknowledge. But even our little dogs know it, all the symptoms are there. Well, not quite all. It's still exceedingly cold, the wind has abated but slightly, and the snow it's still a'coming along. When we venture out of doors woe betide those who don't sufficiently respect winter's climatic tirades. The sun's position on the horizon has changed, its rays begin to warm us.

But here in this house where we have made our home, it's a different story. We can look around us and take comfort in our surroundings. And look out/at our windows and bask in the sunny warmth of other, more temperate climates whose actual physical existence transcends this continent we're placed upon. It's the genius of my husband's imagination, his creative enterprise and his determination to surround us with beauty that gives us this splendid ever-present opportunity to gaze upon living green beauty.

We've got doors whose glass insets encompassing all but a few border inches of wood reflect a forest interior. Other doors, leading to bathrooms where schools of exotic fish flip about in aqua waters. And doors where huge shore birds boasting feathers of hues unimaginable other than those in tropical climes glow for our delectation.

We have windows that leap through time and place to bring us to ancient fabled Persia, to tumbling waterfalls in nature-adoring Japan. We have windows that offer us summer relief from heat reflecting our own snow-laden winters in an inner-forest landscape. And we have windows soaring two-storied heights to gift us with the lush many-hued perspective of a rainforest.

The sun loves our windows; our windows return the compliment. Jewelled colours gleam and glitter, become translucent with the vigour of life's reflection. Landscapes shimmer, colours become opalescent, birds seem to come to life, flitting through the palms and large-leafed plants of a jungle interior.

We read books to transport our imaginations to places other than our own.
We lift our eyes toward our windows to look upon worlds that have become our own.