A mirror

I am a mirror hanging on the wall, facing a window on the west side of the house, in the room on the second floor. I reflect four seasons, changing colors of the sky and during the night I absorb a night and stars looking into the window. I also see the most of the room, where I am hanging out. I can't see a carpet and running feet in dirty shoes, but I hear voices. One is scolding: “Why you didn't change your shoes downstairs? You brought all mud into your bedroom.” And a guilty one: “I'll change and vacuum the floor, mom.” I also can see a child sleeping under a blanket on the bed in the night. I don't look his way, so I will not bring some of my memories into his dreams. I rather look into the sky, quietly, motionlessly, steadily. I just reflect. I am the mirror. Copyright © Marie Neumann February 2015