WINDOW WEEPING

I woke this morning

and before my eyes could decide
whether this would be a good day
or a hard one,

I noticed my window weeping.

Tiny tears
sliding down the glass,
catching the newborn light,
whispering,

Pay attention.

“To what?” I asked,
still tangled in sleep.

The window answered
like a sacred echo
returning from somewhere deeper
than the room.

To the pain that may pass through this window.

To the ache of a world
yearning for someone to hear it.

I can soften the sound,
but I cannot silence it.

Pay attention
to goodnesses refusing to be undone,
to wounds that cannot be unhurt,
to burdens carried quietly
by those who pass beneath your gaze.

“Okay, okay,”
I yawned back,
stretching toward the day.

“Anything else?”

The tears gathered,
then pelted and pattered
against the pane.

Yes.

Pay attention to laughter.

To joy.

To those rare moments
when happiness spills over its banks
and runs down a face
in salty rivers of gratitude.

To tears that are not born of sorrow
but of wonder.

To rapture so immense
it parts the clouds
and reveals paradise unfolding
right here,
right now,
forever.

The window grew still.

Its final tear traced the glass
like a blessing.

And I understood.

The purpose of a window
is not merely to let us look out.

It is to teach us to see.

So may your window
never cease weeping.

May it remind you
to notice the hurting
and the hopeful,

the broken
and the beautiful,

the grief that needs bearing
and the joy that deserves witnessing.

SEE.     .     .it’s not simply to look through the window—

but to be changed
by what is seen there.