DIFFERENT WINDOWS OF LIFE

Country Road by Bill Slavin

The light captured us. We chose our new place because of the light streaming through every large window in each room. The windows let the light in, which also means I can see through them into the windows of the building next to us, where I catch a glimpse of the new mom as she walks her baby back and forth, and the man sitting in the opposite building reading in his easy chair. I can see people being dropped off by Lyft/Uber/taxi below and watch as others put suitcases in trunks and drive away. And they all can see me.

We've always loved looking out the windows in any place we've lived, but we've never been able to see directly into our neighbors' windows before. There was a tall wooden wall outside our first apartment in Mountain View, a driveway and garages in another, and our first two home purchases were corner lots with windows facing away from other homes. In Japan, we were 14 stories up with a small park and a busy city street below. No other buildings impeded our view of Mt. Fuji. In France, our patio doors looked out across a narrow street onto the roof of another building. Our last house in Danville was placed on a lot at an angle, so our windows didn't look directly into our neighbors. Our new view is disconcerting. We sometimes feel like Peeping Toms. We are working to look without really looking at anything that catches our eyes. We now understand why the people in many of the condos keep their curtains drawn all the time. We are discovering one way that city life can be so different.

Window by Bill Slavin

This past weekend, we were reminded of the difference when we took a trip to Pt. Reyes Station, a small town near the edge of the Pacific Coast and positioned close to the San Andreas Fault (it runs through the bay on one side of Pt. Reyes). Bill came to wander around Tomales Bay State Park to capture on camera some of the tule elk living in the park. He didn't see any elk, but he took some evocative pictures.

Ranch Land Near Tomales Bay by Bill Slavin

I came for the writers' workshop, "Writing the Language of Color in the Home of Sam Francis," led by Elizabeth Fishel and Susan Tillet. The workshop was held in the house where Sam Francis, the abstract expressionist, lived with his fifth wife. When he died, the house was purchased to become a writer's retreat. The interior walls of the house have been painted with colors that Sam Francis used in his paintings. Bookcases line the main room of the house, painted a deep teal. Three of the tall bookcases are filled with books written by writers who came to the house to write. The spirit of many of the writers fills this vibrant house.

Wandering through the natural garden mixed with its flowering native, some non-native plants and bumblebees, I came across a few small sculptures, set not as the dominant theme of the garden, but tucked into the bushes and trees as if they too had grown up out of the ground. I stopped, listened, and heard nothing but silence until a few birds chirped in the apple trees. The silence made me think of our city life, where there is a constant thrum like a river, sometimes a roar, of traffic. I took a deep breath of the silence before I sat down to write.

***************

Mesa Refuge in Pt. Reyes offers space for writers and activists:

https://mesarefuge.org

Look for future writers' workshops with Elizabeth Fishel and Susan Tillet here:

http://wednesdaywriters.com/events.html

Check out Sam Francis' work here:

https://samfrancis.com

View from the window   May 2025