Rear Window

there are many windows
in the house;
but which one
do you look to open
on days when you want
to fill your soul
with a breath of fresh air?

will you open
the one in front
with its pretty facade
and charming tableau
of a life half-lived,
looking out into
a manicured garden
with dainty flowers,
dancing butterflies,
and a well-worn path
leading up to a door
that always opens
with a gentle push
or the sound of a bell?

or will you open
the one in the rear
with its termite-eaten frame
adorned with
sticky dark cobwebs
and well-settled dust,
undisturbed by
the constant chatter
and clutter
of frivolity,
looking out
into the untamed woods,
where there is space
for everything
both light and dark,
small and big,
ugly and beautiful;
where butterflies and moths
wander free,
where grass and clovers,
creepers and wildflowers,
burst open their hearts
with unbridled joy,
where you walk the path
forged by your eyes
up to the altar
where fear meets love
in a bitter-sweet union?

which window
will you open
today?