Haven’t I written about a light in the window before? There’s something about it that warms; makes me feel all is right and good. So much pressure to put on a 20 watt, amiright?
The semi-obsession started when my father herded us into the station wagon before dawn one morning. I was still years too young for high school so didn’t know what was going on; only to obey.
We were headed to Bedias, about 100 miles north of Houston. For much of the drive we took I45 which is now about 20 lanes each way… but back then we were the only car on the two-lane thoroughfare, a country road with nothing but trees on either side. Houston hadn’t become a megalopolis yet, swallowing everything it could reach.
I saw the place as we meandered down the private dirt road to the farmhouse. The sun was rising and there were no trees for miles, just an elderly two story wood house. And a light in a window, emanating an invitation. It was so charming.
Later I discovered the lamp in the kitchen window; a huge kitchen – old but warm and comfortable with high ceilings complete with table and chairs. It had to be the center of the house. You could feel the thousands of meals families had shared, laughing and talking. I loved it completely.
Since then I keep a light in the window. It reminds me of simpler times and people, of a time when I45 was no more than a country lane.
…if you feel there is something left unsaid, there is… i just don’t know how to say it.
pamibe 
absolute pure love. So simple. You feel it, you give it, you receive it. And the circle is complete.
somehow, it gets complicated. But not the you knew as a child. That remains warm and glowing like a light in the window letting you know you’re home once more.
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Oh, hell! That was downright poetic! And true. So true.
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