Between the idea and the act falls the wish.
Between the encounter and the wish lies recognition.
He had stared through this window before.
Not outwards at the fence and the horses patient in the snow, nor inward with his nose pressed to the glass, but at the spider-lace curtains.
He was trapped in that gauzy sliver between here and there, between now and then.
Beyond those curtains lay another story he could not name.
Against the whiteness, a diffuse light mounted