Rebecca Green

Window Watcher

We adapted quite easily, retreating inwards, the tortoise inside the shell and embracing, ourselves, the walls, the safety of quilts and the particulars of home.

I blended into carpet, became scratches on the paintwork, a fracture in the window pane, watching the world through shattered refraction, unsure of what was real.

Would my daughter remember the loneliness of home, the paced floors, the same faces and the tension in my shoulders when I held her each morning?

The magnolia bloomed twice, we blew out our birthday candles, that year the smoke spiralled upwards for an infinity of moments and I counted myself lucky in the yawning of wide spaces.

Instagram: @herworldofdiscovery