Every afternoon, I am drawn to the light hitting the windowsill in the guest room, the lace curtains stirring in the wind, the flowers Maria places around the house like the art elf she can be. There is something comforting about this, something stirring, reassuring.  The window is a portal, life moving in and out, year after year. When I am afraid, I stand by the window and see the fear blowing on the window, a little bit at a time, weakening again and again as it moves through the flowers.