February 25, 2012
I love peeping into windows in Sicily, a tendency some might call nosy, prying, voyeuristic.
If eyes are the windows to the soul, then windows are the eyes to the soul of a home.
Bay windows, picture windows, French windows, jalousie windows. They all set me to dreaming.
Of other lives. Secret lives.
I wonder: What sort of people are behind that window? What are they craving, creating, suffering?
I’d like to try on their story, if only for a little while.
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