Thoughts of the Day

In at least two of my classes, I get to sit next to a wide open window. The first one is in my professional writing English class, and gazes down from the second floor to the parking lot of Susquehanna Hall. I find myself glancing over, away from my professor (who speaks in a thick Midwestern accent) and into the plethora of cobalt sky, at the students milling and weaving about. There goes that girl I had in Latino studies last semester. And there goes Elvis, who might be half boy, half girl, or maybe something entirely different.

The second window is cracked open, blowing cold air into my population geography class from the mall that it overlooks - the largest mall at an east coast school. The sky is limited, as the view is sandwiched between two buildings and the horizon of squat brick buildings. The trees are all dull and dead - the grass is still white with snow.

I realize that windows matter to me because I spend so much time indoors, whether it be working, writing, or in class. Growing up in San Francisco, the sky is always blotted out by clouds, the stars by city lights, and the horizon by buildings like crooked teeth. (My population geography professor is crazy - paranoid, talking about population explosions.)

I want Reno, Nevada. I want millions of stars. I want seven degree weather. I want parkas and wolves howling in the distance. I want the endless blue sky, thousands of chapped trees peppering a forest of chattering birds. I want moose and mice, bees and bears. I want to fly out of these windows and be wherever I want to be.