my window

I find that I am different from most other people. I make no value judgment in saying this for sometimes it seems a good thing and sometimes a bad thing, but either way, as far as I can tell and for as long down the walk of memory I can trot, it has been this way. From time to time the call of society knocks on my conscious and I venture out into the sun. I suppose this is where I notice the shadows the most. Once in the sun I realize my skin is too pale and I seek a shade tree or a hat until I decide I’d just rather be back inside. I enjoy the view from the window. I like seeing children at play, running, laughing and making the sorts of trouble that used to cause me stress. Adults are another matter. I see them standing or sitting, almost always talking. They never seem to be having fun. And this is where I think of my grandparents. Been two years since the last was buried. But I think and wonder if they had a second go, would they talk less and smile more?