How serene the world appears behind my window!
A quiet collage of black and orange glow
Stirred only by cars that wander in and out of sight
Tiny things tracing the strings of bejewelled streetlights.

But! The mind knows –
dark enclaves shrink, fast cars appear slow
sounds drown in silence
only from such a distance.

Should I fling my arms out into the air
let the breeze tangle its silken fingers in my hair
I would feel from the vastness, the hushed intensity
Like a boiling kettle on the verge of its plaintive cry.

Here a honk, there a dog’s bark, there a whistle
(The kettle huffs and begins to rattle)
a revving far away, a few lights go out
(The kettle’s squeak rises to a shout)
And so I slam the window shut to the world outside
So I quench the flame, and let the noise subside.

“At one moment we deplore our birth and state and aspire to an ascetic exaltation; the next we are overcome by the smell of some old garden path and weep to hear the thrushes sing. And so bewildered as usual by the multitude of things which call for explanation and imprint their message without leaving any hint as to their meaning upon the mind, she threw her cheroot out of the window and went to bed.” – Orlando, Virginia Woolf

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