The window

There’s a window with frosted glass over the kitchen sink. Open it about dusk, when it’s half dark out, and you’re looking at nothing special.

Just a large, dull, enclosed patio with a cracked, concrete floor.  In that floor is a metal door painted black that covers an underground cistern full of spring water from beneath the mountains.

Abutting that metal door in the cement floor is a large, circular water tank painted a peeling red. That tank rests atop a round, cement-and-stone base about eight inches high.

There is, as I said, nothing special about that patio, but if you open the window at dusk, a gentle breeze enters, passing over the sink.

And sometimes music too.

* * * *

In a few days more, I’ll have another story about windows and music.  It’s a ghost story from decades back, and a true one at that.  A harp is involved.

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