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Contents of the next boxcar

We both had such intense responses that morning when we woke to smoke pouring through our open bedroom window. It was winter and snow had been falling all night. That always made us sleep better than usual, sometimes even allowed reprieve for xem from the haunts.

When we stood up to try and track the smoke, we saw piles of wicker furniture igniting in the alley behind our house. We watched out the window as the snow fell and the wicker furniture burned. That these things happened simultaneously seemed miraculous to us, our mouths hanging, but so as hinged and not slack.

There, on the threshold where hot and cold were mixing, we noted together that we felt like the window was a mirror, making it possible for us to see ourselves reflected to us. What do the offspring of a window look like? When peering through it are we a window's offspring? Is a window or something that enables view, one of revelations' many hearts?

Copyright 2012 by j/j hastain