A face looks up with the faintest of smiles, I nod once remembering the miles. Windows are the souls that I have passed, from the first of a mother, to the spirit at last. Some were polished, some were cracked, some were missing, most were black. The windows that reflect were the hardest to see, for they only beckoned back to me. Now the glass is simple to break, one sharp word might become the mistake.
Windows are sand that clear for thought saying nothing for what is caught.
Moving from pane to pane, I sheild myself from the fall rain. Then by chance I peer to see, all the drops coming from me. Windows become eyes so colorfull and bright, they comfort me into the night. The Rum is free and the Spirits friendly. Many Ports of Call have granted this Vitke a Treasure Chest of Ideas and Helpful Hints with everything from Computers to Auto repair.