Today I started restoring this 90 year old window. Taking care of old things is what we all are good at and I am glad that I get the time to restore this window and let it live for an other 90 years.

The poet in me often wonders of while doing this kind of work. I restored many boats, doors and windows and all of these have a metaphoric place in the minds of poets and even normal people.

If I look through the windows in the house where I live now, life goes on like normal. If I turn of the news my only worries would be not to forget toothpaste later today when I drive to that house, my home for now. But I also have a window into the rest of the world, and though I could close the blinders, light always seems to seep through the cracks on the sides. I is a strange world that seeps through these cracks of my blinders, one where I am not part of but at the same time are overwhelmed by, by the harshness of it light in my secluded room.

I restore windows, maybe because they have seen it all and deserve some love. I have seen it before to, the history books are full of the story that unfolds itself now in the world and there is always the older generations you can question.

For now I wonder why I only had questions when I was 8, and cared less for the answers. The world was an open world, a play ground I looked at through my young eyes, my own window without blinders or harsh light, or dark room.