In this window square, I see a jumble of branches, layers of leaves, shades of chartreuse and sap greens, olives and darker tones. When I look out, all I see through the gap between the curtains are leaves from tall trees that sit on the hillside behind the falling down fence behind the house.įrom my seat, I only see an upper square, a square created by the borders of monitor, curtains, and the top of the window (chunky Christmas lights hanging down from the rod). (They are mostly left open, but it’s a large window, so there are panels in the middle, too). Because of this slight twist, this angling of body, when I look out over the monitor, I am looking through a break in the curtains. And now it is part of the setup, which means I often sit in exactly this spot at the end of the table, but angled (so I can put my feet up on the other chair). But it’s bigger, which makes a difference. It’s not all that big, and it’s not super clear or bright. I recently hooked up a monitor, at least 15 years old, to make it easier to see. This is the spot I sit in the rest of the day. These are the greens of this particular morning, this particular view, framed by this particular sky and moment.Īfter I write in the morning, I move to the end of the table, perpendicular to my starting position. It is a hundred shades of green, greens I have no name for.
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