Windows

What if you saw something outside your window that broke your heart?  What if you saw something that was trying to be brave and defiant but was actually so sad and so lost under that thin veneer that it made you cry?  You could not reach out to it.  It would snap your hand off at the wrist because to accept that gesture would only somehow cause it more pain.  There has been too much damage done, too many scars teaching too many lessons in showing anything that might be misconstrued as weakness.  Yet there is that fear in the eyes.  And it calls out to the thing in me that wants to make it go away.  Impasse, and the moment is gone.  Why are there so many things that are broken?  Why are there so many things that are hurting?

You want to know why my house is full of animals other people have thrown away?  Because I can do something about that.  Because I can offer them some reclamation and some ease when I look out my window and see that living thing in need.  It's not possible to do that elsewhere always.  What I see out other windows destroys me through my powerlessness to stop their hurting, both that caused by others and that they are causing themselves.