Win­dowsills.

Two years ago we plant­ed some mar­jo­ram, among oth­er herbs, and it thrived on the win­dowsill. I think I might plant more this year.

Napa cab­bage is a sta­ple in our home. I was fin­ish­ing one up one day and was fas­ci­nat­ed by what I found at the core of the cab­bage. I thought it looked like some kind of deep-sea crea­ture. And I thought it would make a nice pic­ture with the fil­tered sun­light on the windowsill.

And yes­ter­day, I was feel­ing rather thank­ful for the earth beneath my feet. As I formed the earth in my hand it turned into a con­tain­er. And I con­tem­plat­ed the idea of the earth as a con­tain­er. I thought about all the crea­tures and the things it has been con­tain­ing through the ages. I won­dered what sto­ries it would tell of these things and crea­tures, if it could tell sto­ries. I won­dered how it feels about all these things and crea­tures, if it had feel­ings. And then I took a pic­ture of it bask­ing in the sun on the win­dowsill, with the peel­ing paint.

I like windowsills.