I looked outside my window, and saw mountains. To my five year old self, the mountains must
have been present by the hundreds. They came in all heights and depths and were all a varying
shade of blue that eventually blended into white nothingness of the clouds that grew to cover
them. I didn’t realize how beautiful that view was, but I guess I was not tall enough to be able to
look out the window and completely appreciate the mountains for all they were. When I went to
school, I saw a different view.
Outside my window, I saw a tree. I don’t recall if it grew fruits or flowers or nothing at all. I
don’t recall if the tree had been there all my life, or if I had unknowingly seen it grow to the
majestic presence it projected when I was twelve. I knew that it was summer, but I still failed to
remember if it would have been the lush green color that I saw in old pictures, the mildly sweet
yellow that I assume it had been during spring time or maybe it was still bare from the winter. I
am somewhat surprised at how my memory is failing me today, but I guess at twelve years old,
foliage was not the most interesting topic to discuss.
Today, I look out my window to see a wall. I think I could describe this off white 10 feet tall
wall with a thousand adjectives, including the dirt marks, cracks, designs and each feature that
distinguishes this wall from all others. I know that the wall buried and replaced what was left of
the tree, and it’s heights covered up the remnants of the mountain views. I’m eighteen now. I
would hope that that would be old enough to recognize the kinds of trees that grow outside of my
window. I think that I would be tall enough now to look at the mountains and appreciate them for
all they are, but the view of this closed wall is what is present outside of my window in this
moment, and the foreseeable future.
Beauty is a unique topic to discuss. I think either the view of the mountains or the large tree
would have been sufficient to be used as a backdrop on a mediocre modeling shoot. It would be
easier for me to discuss the beauty of nature as opposed to the actions of construction workers or
the necessity of developing human shelters. I wish that the wall had been built around the tree
with holes throughout, but I did not have a voice when I had the chance to make a difference. Or
perhaps I did not want to have a voice when I had the chance to make the difference.


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