Blank Curtains

Blank Curtains 

The shimmery curtain sashayed its stuff, swaying evocatively on the light breeze whispering from the window. It swishes, then delicately folds again, dancing with feminine movements that her partner lacks. The other half of the curtain is stuck in the corner, standing stagnantly by the closed side of a window.

Morning and noon are juxtaposing each other, fusing their essence together in the lazy beginning of afternoon. Murmurings from outside filter through the thin, gauzy drapes dropped in front of a thin slit in the window's rib.

Where does Sunday go–this Sunday and all the others with little (or too much) to do? They get sucked into the fan in front of us, new or not. The day goes 'round and 'round on the gray propellers. They go slow enough that I become entranced by the rhythm, yet they are a blur, just like the other Sundays of this month.

 I get pulled in by pure fascination of its movements, but let's not forget the fan provides coolness, a respite from the heat of day and thoughts. I decide it's ok to lose track of the Sundays sometimes, as long as they whirl in a space of possibilities, like a launching pad to set forth Autumn ideas. We need the bottomless whirl to propel us forward later. Not all moments can be about moving and shaking, otherwise we would have nothing to move and shake.

The half curtain shakes ever so slightly. I draw it aside to see life circling below. I turn around, put on my sandals, and head out the door.

Photo:  <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/babettelyannacey-26514889/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=7616053">Babette L Yannacey</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=7616053">Pixabay</a>

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi