plemur

no longer distort the perception of the outside world. The glass is manufactured too well now. I don’t know how they do it, exactly, but only the glare seems to interfere with how we see things through them. Even that is going away. It used to be that windows, at least those in the farm house I grew up in, were imperfect. The light would play a bit as it traveled through those windows. The walls would be striped with rings of shadow and light when the sun got low. Now perfect rectangles slowly arc across similar walls. 

It’s not just windows, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now. It’s the way we see the outside world in other ways. Sure, the glare is still there—our inability to see precisely any one thing still haunts our imperfect minds, but the light is there if we care to use it. No longer are there shadow and light striped walls from which we look at pictures of the present. The past is still a bit tricky, as those who painted those landscapes hanging on the walls had to fill in streaks of light for themselves in order to tell a complete story. But our story will be much more clear to those who come to stare at our walls.

Just a strange thought about windows I had just now. I wish they still left those light and dark stripes upon my walls. It adds a texture to life. Imperfect, yet all the more beautiful for it.