By Sonya Rehman

Down roads and dark, narrow streets, how lovely to peer into windows from afar: a portal into another life, another heart. Who sits on that wicker chair set close to the window? Is someone awake, dreaming and longing for what is out of reach?

A dog barks incessantly, throaty, commanding… a few blocks down, a sharper bark pierces the quiet night – little shrieks uttered from the jaw of a white, fluffy terrier, perhaps. His little furry body, full of excitement and a pinch of boredom.

Have the pages of those books near the window been turned? Or is life within that large wooden square in a flurry, frenzy, always? Are hot meals cooked within those walls which contain laughter and despair? And the table mats, are they old plastic mats, the kind our grandmothers kept? Or are they new-age and bamboo-y?

As the pavements swallow our trees, we look towards each other – countless, shining portals in a concrete landscape: how a bookshelf, an echo, a presence, a life, can remind us to stop, slow down and remember: we truly are not alone…



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