Pale and delicate, the slightest breeze is able to sway me from my place.

Parading as the

lungs of a massive window, inhaling and exhaling with the swivel of the oscillating fan. Trim of

soft white ruffles line my edges, tying me into the feminine aura of the room. The little girl,

Cora, to whom the room belongs, passes countless hours here every afternoon and evening after

school. I observe her boarding and exiting the bus every morning and afternoon respectively,

through the window I am tasked to shade. When she comes home, I see her run through the front

rose garden, I hear her shuffling up the steps, and feel a familiar gust of air as she excitedly

swings open her bedroom door. She hangs her backpack and rushes to her craft table, which sits

near the right edge of the window. Everyday, she joyfully scribbles drawings of her and her

mother among the roses, the bright yellow bus she rides to school, or her puppy accessorized

with pink bows. Her signature was adding a small clock in one corner of every drawing - a

seemingly ironic touch for a child who clearly took joy in losing track of time. Each and

everyday she draws picture after picture of the things she adores, all while smiling gleefully, and

occasionally peering through me for further inspiration, just like she did today. When she

inevitably grew tired of drawing, which typically coincided with sundown, she stood, stretched,

and sauntered over to her small white rocking chair. She picked it up carefully and carried it to a

worn patch of the wooden floor directly in the center of the window, and placed it down. Every

afternoon Cora moved the chair to that spot, and every morning her mother would move it back,

in a laughable charade of minimal inconvenience. Cora slumped into her rocker and entered a

rhythmic motion, and her bright eyes followed the brilliant orange sun as it melted to the

horizon. Every evening, she stared in pure awe at the golden shimmer perched upon the rows of

roses as the night settled into place. The wonder in her eyes was more moving than any force of

wind, yet I sat almost too still. The entirety of the room froze around the beaming girl as she
pushed her tiny hands up on the window seat to widen her view. She was entranced by the

glittering sky, and the sky peered back at her with an even greater adoration. Cora glanced away

abruptly, and began to scan the room. Deference from a schedule was rare for her, and her

sudden disengagement was uncharacteristic. From this alone I could gather that she was

thinking, and I traced her motion as she slunk across the room to retrieve a step stool from

beneath her bed. She brought it to the window and lowered it, before promptly hopping onto it

giddily. She began pulling her small body onto the wide ledge, wriggling her short legs in a

clever resolution to get closer to the splendor of the sunset, which seemed to be just out of her

reach, but still much closer than it once was. Never before had she observed the sun’s descent

from this new lookout point, and her reflection in the window pane smiled back at her innocently

whenever the fog of each anticipatory breath had faded from the glass. Her eyelids dipped lower,

as did the sun, and the ambient warmth in the room made its timely escape. I found Cora’s small

fingertips tangled in my decorative frills as she lazily draped me over her shoulders before

curling up and wrapping herself completely. Her calmly paced breathing displaced the cluttered

dust from the curtain rod, and I found myself woven and mended with threads of youth. Her eyes

struggled to remain open, and she propped her head up against the slick glass that divided her

from what someone of her age could only recognize as heaven. The sky’s persistent flame

sizzled to ashes upon meeting the horizon, embers fleeing into the dark sky, littering it with

glinting stars. And as Cora’s eyes drifted shut, the window began to open.