The Glass Window

Like every day for the last two years, I found Nina in the living room, sitting on the same old sofa, staring at the huge glass window, embracing the silence of the view and, I guess, imagining how life would be out there. Even during the warm season, the fireplace was crowned with burning flames.

Every day I wondered about her story. All I knew about her was the real name she cut off in pieces, Ernestina. I couldn’t figure out the reasons why this forty-one years old woman, healthy, educated, and a strange beauty had shrunken into an upright fetal position for so long. Her light brown round eyes always lost in the horizon. Her skinny body always wearing the same purple long gown. Among all, it was her perpetual silence what jumbled my mind.

The log cabin which for many could have been a perfect retreat had turned into her prison. No known relatives or close friends. The closest neighbor a mile away, once told me, the cabin had been her husband’s, a ghost she had never mentioned.

We met by chance, I think. Hiking in the surrounding mountains, the smell and vision of fresh herbs, flowers, and plumped fruits caught my attention. The cathedral shape of a rustic well ignited my thirst. It looked like a piece of paradise on earth. When my curiosity knocked at her door, she graciously opened. That was the only human conversation we have ever had. We walked through the gardens and tasted the fresh waters coming from hundreds of feet below the ground. Two hours later I was headed back home with a bag full of lavenders, rosemary, earthy mints, hallucinogenic mugwort and the promise of visiting again. It’s has been two years since that day.

Although the front door is always open for me once a week, we have never walked the gardens again. The only sounds are those of my voice while her words are silent. We cook, share the afternoon tea and watch the fire dancing and the mountains and trees changing colors with each passing season; all in silence.

It was Friday, May 13. I like to visit on Fridays since this is the best day to starting new friendships and falling in love.

The door was wide open. The living room was empty and the flames extinguished. On top of the old couch laid her purple gown. On the glass window a piece of paper waiting to be found; waiting for me to be read.

“My dear and faithful friend. Today, I changed my name. Ernestina is gone. Nina has died. Milda is born. There’s a time in the life of every woman when everything must be left behind, ripping off our skin to let new layers grow. I know you wondered about me. Your eyes told me of the many questions scrambling your mind. You never asked. I am grateful. Seeing you coming and going every week gave me the courage of doing what I did today when I am finally breaking the chains that I had carried for many years. These chains had many names, a dysfunctional family, a failed marriage, bruises hurting my body, weakness of spirit, fear to face my reality, fear of myself. We can let life consume us and if we do, she will destroy us to our ashes. If we don’t help life, she will not move a finger to help us.

On this day, I declared war on loneliness. I am driving my own chariots of fire. I am running wild with a naked soul. I am opening my heart again to love, romance, caring, nurturing, adventure, and all the good stuff life has been trying to offer.

The view from my window reflected the woman I am meant to be, the one I had been looking for in every branch, snowflake, falling leaf, and flowering bud. This is what we are; all the seasons together dancing to the rhythm of the flames of life.

Keep walking the mountain trails, savoring fresh herbs, drinking from the sweet waters. Keep the door open and once in a while, look at the glass window if you need some answers. Maybe one day we will meet again, not in the living room but out there re-writing our stories.

Until then and forever,

Milda

I looked at the window knowing she was there, somewhere. My heart rejoiced as I walked to the door left opened. Aromatic herbs waved goodbyes, fruits jumped into my bag, and my jug was filled with fresh water. A mile into my journey, the old neighbor asked me about my friend. To him I simply replied, “She is free.”

Picture template: Color Me Calm