The windows of my house are quiet and there seems to be this grey scrim over everything. The overcast has made everything so dull and boring and so I go look back at the windows to my other world; the one I like much better.
Photographers like windows; they provide a structure around which we can build; a structure that echos the usual rectangle that we work in. So probably most photographers have at least a scattering of window pictures, either taken purposefully as part of a design or as some symbolic structure that adds a little piquant note to an image.
These windows are in a house in a little small mill town near where I live, the town has seen better days but some houses have been painted to keep up appearances. The cat ignored me, stalking back and forth across the porch. A man came out and asked me what I was doing; when I told him I was taking pictures for fun, he looked at me a bit, shook his head and went back inside and slammed the screen door.
Cross Street in Baltimore is a short street, full elbow-to-elbow with trendy restaurants for the middle class. Outside is garish and bright, inside was dark and smells like old beer.
Kaitlyn has a small crab as a pet. It is hers alone to take care of and every day that it is warm, she takes it to a nearby window and holds it up against the screen so 'it can get some air.' Declan is her audience and, for this short time, is on his best behavior in the hopes that that he can hold the crab someday. This is her second crab. When the first one died, they had a small burial service in the back yard and the entire family attended. Kaitlyn and Declan cried but everyone else just looked as solemn as possible.
I was on a train going east from Yangon to Bago. For most of the way, it is a single track and, when trains had to pass, one train was shunted to a siding. For some reason, as my train pulled abreast of the other, it shuddered to a stop and, for some minutes we were window to window with the train west bound to Yangon. This man leaned forward out of the shadows and stared at me. His eyes were locked on mine and, not wanting to offend, I did not look away. My camera was in my lap and I picked it up and indicated, asking permission to take a picture. He nodded, keeping the same still stern face.
Just as I took the camera from my eye, the train started up, he smiled broadly and leaned back into the shadow.
I looked out the window as the train went into a curve and I could see the people walking along the tops of the cars, jumping the gaps and then nonchalantly sitting on the edge and yelling down to the those people leaning from the windows.