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| Rainbows of light |
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| A new window, a new sink, a familiar view. |
Forty years ago, I stood at this spot. I stood and washed dishes in a sink owned by my grandmother’s closest friend. Her sink was situated in a narrow alley of a kitchen, directly under a small window. I do not recall it ever being open, even in the summer. On either side of the sink were mountains of dishes -- on one side dirty, the other side, clean. I kept my eyes trained on the view outside as much as I could because I felt so claustrophobic in the tiny space. Around the corner is a wall dividing kitchen from dining room. I could catch sight of the crystal pendants that hung from the chandelier over the dining table. The rainbows of light that the prisms scattered always, always made me smile.
The hands of time spin forward. The fact that I am standing in the same house seems like magic. Again, at a sink, doing the dishes. This sink is wider, deeper and cleaner. This window, in triplicate, affords virtually the same view I remember from the seventies.
When I turn my head, directly in my line of sight is the same chandelier and the same table. Time has done nothing to slow the rainbows of light that continue to dance.
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