Window on the World

Whenever I have a doctor's appointment with my primary care physician, I look forward to gazing out the window of the exam room. Her office is on the fifth floor of a gray multipurpose building, and sports a panoramic view of Greece, reaching half way to Buffalo. I learned a long time ago not to fuss and stew about how much time you get to spend in those tiny little rooms waiting for your turn. When I know there are no windows, I have something along to read. But when I know there are windows, I refuse to sit on the table facing an unopening door, watching for the pot to boil. Instead, I stand with my back to the door, gazing out into the wide wide world below, taking it all in.

Today there was a stubbly brown carpet of leafless trees stretching out far beyond the mall and the city, half covering the slightly bluepurple range of mountains. Immediately below, a garbage dumpster half full of discarded rusty mufflers and pipes from the repair shop next door. To the left, a quiet little neighborhood of cape cods, each with their square little sidewalk and collection of shrubs. A few had daring curved sidewalks, wide and so inviting. Piles of bright yellow leave punctuate the curbs, littering the edges of the avenues and obnoxiously creeping their way back up the lawns. To the right, the stretch of newly paved highway, cones still intact, deflecting traffic in odd and confusing patterns.

Little toy cars skitter about, darting into the mall parking lots, buzzing around Panera's, blinking impatiently at the traffic light. An elderly gentleman with a black hooded parka steps gingerly along the sidewalk, hugging his hood about his neck against the biting wind. Any moment he is likely to topple over and sprawl across the cold concrete. The sky is cloudless and silent, awaiting the arrival of some storm or other. The huge cathedral, boasting its abstract architecture, dominates the skyscape, its walls patterned with a decade or so of weather, its tiny bells dangling from the avant garde steeple a gaudy tarnished green.

Quietly, quietly I watch the world unwind and be about the day's business. Inside the clinic, I hear muffled voices, a newborn baby cry, the nurse's footsteps going down the hall, the ticking of my watch. I inhale slowly, taking time to absorb it all, waiting. It is good to be here, to be alive, to be part of this community, viewing it all from my window on the world. I will do as they are doing - take care of what I need to take care of, move at my own pace, go where I am deflected, find a way to the highway, move along.