I remember it as a dream: everything crisp and clear through the seemingly flawless glass. The sun glimmering through plush, rustling leaves, touching upon all, catching in my eye and drawing me in. It created an aura, a brilliant glow that left no harbor for shadow and chased away the mere thought of darkness. So much beauty, so much life. So much life. But time and an idle mind have separated this dream from my new reality. And what, now? Where is the sun's beautiful ray of warmth? Where is the soothing breeze that trickles through the treetops? Where is life? It lies behind distorted panes, twisted, warped, perverted, ugly, dark. Lost. Or, perhaps the glass in now flawless, exact and focused, displaying for the first time the truth -- displaying what has been there for all time: naked trees being raped of their sheltering leaves by the bitter gale, life withering away, decaying, falling to pervading darkness, a world dead before it is alive, but yet still existing and devoid of purpose. A world of empty space. Nothingness.

This was a timed essay I wrote last year for the prompt: write about what you see outside a window at two different times in your life. I call it "my" window because I am peering through my mind's eye.