A Window Dreams at Dusk

Sometimes beauty waits in the shift of light. What seems ordinary by day transforms at dusk—curtains become veils, shadows soften into story, and familiar corners of home take on a quiet, unfamiliar grace. This reflection began as a meditation on perspective—how the same window can hold two truths, depending on whether you stand inside looking out, or outside looking in. From that stillness, two poems emerged: one long and searching, one brief and lyrical—together holding the reminder that perspective changes everything.

Outside Looking In
By day, the window is nothing new—
a pane of glass, a frame of view.

But evening comes, and shadows bend,
curtains, plants, and lamplight blend.

What hides by sun begins to sing,
transformed beneath night’s quiet wing.

Inside or out, the truth will shift,
the same window—yet a different gift.

A Window Dreams at Dusk

By daylight, a window is just a window.
Glass pane, curtain folds, a plant stand,
a shade pulled half-way—
objects so ordinary,
you forget to see them.

But in the evening, when the light shifts,
when shadow begins to weave itself into the frame,
the familiar grows strange and luminous.
The curtain is no longer cloth,
but a veil.
The plant stand leans like sculpture.
The lamplight, softened,
spills a kind of quiet invitation—
a glimpse into a home,
a glimpse into myself.

Perspective is the alchemy.
From inside looking out,
it is just my daily view.
From outside looking in,
it becomes a story—
not the same one,
not even close.

Truth, I realize, is often like this.
It does not arrive whole,
but bends with the angle we carry.
Daylight shows one version,
shadows reveal another,
and somewhere in between
lives the beauty we almost missed.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai