The View From My Sofa

I sit in comfort, loosely clothed in pajamas and robe, on my sofa.  Multi-hued and multi-textured throws and pillows litter the surface of the sofa, within an arm’s reach for added warmth and snuggle factor.  My toes wiggle with glee in my fleece slippers–pink camouflage ones, no less.

From the comfort of my sofa, I can watch out the front door.  The fully glass storm door gives me visual access to the wide world beyond.  The lock is slid in place for safety and security.  No one can enter to harm me while I am watching the world go by.  Cars travel our little-known road, heading to and from private residences all within walking distance from me.  The kaleidoscope of their colors, makes, models and maintenance represent well each owner in this little community of ours.  Oddly enough, the cars returning home always seem to travel faster than on their trip out.

From the comfort of my sofa, I see evergreen trees and utility poles. Our little road joins a secondary road, leading to intrastate highways and interstate motorways just over yonder hill.  Young families rush from their front doors and into their cars and off they go.  More sedately, us older ones make our exit.  Occasionally their outfits may give indication of their destination.  As the breeze moves through, small sets of chimes send their tinkering melody from the neighbors’ porches.  You can hear bits of passing conversation and possibly a peal of laughter from them.  A stray cat, an adventurous squirrel and a dozen birds or so sojourn with us here temporarily before they go about their way down the road.  From the comfort of my sofa, I can watch out the front door.  It reminds me of the future–life, power, movement, change, direction, relationships.

From the comfort of my sofa, I can watch out the back door.  The partial glass storm door gives me visual access to the woods behind me.  The lock is slid in place for safety and security.  No one can enter to harm me while I am watching the trees stand still.

From the comfort of my sofa, I see a few pine trees still standing and many having fallen in death. The oak trees are barren and their branches are brittle.  What once were grassy areas have now been overrun with moss or stripped to patches of red dirt.  Along the fence separating our patio areas from the neighbor’s homestead, mounds of leaves bury the sprigs of poison ivy prevalent in the summer.  Cast off rusty hub caps and rotted grills intersperse the vegetation within this little private forest.

If you look closely in the far corner, you may see the neighbor’s horse moving up from his hiding place as the neighbor drives out in his pick up truck at daily feeding time.  As the breeze moves through, small branches and dead leaves tumble down, adding to the underbrush of the area.  A stray cat, an adventurous squirrel and a dozen birds can move quickly through these woods.  From the comfort of my sofa, I can watch out the back door.  It reminds me of the past–silent sentinels of life long since passed, boundaries obscured by poisonous life, a land to be traversed through but not dwelt in.

I sit in comfort on my sofa and can see out both doors.  The door I choose to unlock and walk through will guide me to my destination–my future or my past.  If I choose the door of my future, I may need to change what I am wearing for something more worthy for travel.  If I choose the door of my past, what I’m wearing already will probably be good enough and I still would be comfortable.  If I choose to sit and just continue to watch, I can remain satisfied in my pjs, robe and pink camouflage slippers.  When I grow bored and nod off to sleep, the beautiful throws and pillows are just an arm’s reach away.

 

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