From from my window

This is what I will miss when we leave this apartment. This view from our kitchen at this time of the day. I have taken many photos wanting to show you, but none of them quite work. Perhaps because I’m trying to take a photo of a moment, but perhaps because the clouds and the smog and the dust do strange things to the light. It’s hard to photograph the sun.

At this moment, it is late afternoon, I am getting (fixing as my American-schooled boys now say) tea, my boys are running in and out, helping sometimes and sometimes not, asking constantly, What time is Dad getting home, Will he have time to take us to the corner for soccer?

When the window is open, the call to prayer floats in. When the window is closed I will hear it, but faintly, and very often youngest boy will say, Can we open the window so we can hear the call to prayer?

I have been trying to write a post which explains exactly why I will miss this moment. Why it makes me think of other beats in other days where I felt just this way. Other beats which are so often prompted by a breeze, or the light of the sun. The autumn light on the parklands as I walked home from my first real job. A summer evening breeze through the open front door of our Parkside place. Winter sunsets over the tops of eucalypts when we lived in Blackwood. The greying light on Rangitoto from our bedroom window in Meadowbank as clouds covered the sun.

But just like the perfect photograph, the perfect words won’t come.

And the imperfect ones? Sometimes imperfect one are okay, but other times they are nothing more than naff.

From from my window