out my window, color

I live in a basement with three windows. One on each side, North and South. And one in the door. Technically, there are two small windows in the door, but I count them as one. The windows in the door are covered by a strip of bright cloth left by the woman who lived here before. Today, I have the cloth pushed back so I can see the bright pink flowers hanging heavy on the tree across the street. In between me and the tree: rain.

Out the North window, three fat weeds have sprung up directly out of a stone slab and now those three fat weeds are topped with purple flowers. Until the flowers bloomed, I imagined myself opening that window, popping out the screen, and digging those weeds out of the stone. Now I think they're lovely.

Out the South window: green grass and a stellar view of my landlord's shiny, black, plastic composter. Lovely. A few mornings ago, I was startled by a pathetic, screeching cat who was sitting outside that window and looking in at me. When I saw him, he screeched again. With each hoarse cry, his ears twisted back and laid flat. What a strange morning visitor. I ignored him and went to take a shower. It was 6:15am.