Each day is a little life...Look through any window...

I'm creeping up to the sill, standing on tiptoe to peek inside...   What will be there?   An aproned Mama mending or stirring a pot of broth?   Perhaps her husband, smoking a pipe and warming his toes by an open fire.   Maybe nothing but dust motes, dancing in the light streaming through this window.   But no...this is a well tended cottage, with a blissfully perfect garden, so someone lives and loves here.   No doubt a bowl of the sunset hued roses would rest upon an embroidered tablecloth, else what would be the point of growing them?   Their scent would greet you as soon as the door opens, Mama framed within, emanating warmth and feelings of comfort.   ...Mimi...