Out from the Gray Evening

While morning pushed me drearily into noon, I passed the smallest window of my house several times before finally stopping to observe what lied beyond it. I had done this from time to time for weeks, perhaps too often: standing before the smallest window, staring into the same spot though the slouching tree-limbs; the very spot that caught my eye each time, the spot that had no concrete form or obvious potency. There was no reason why I would have to gaze into it, whatever it had been. I knew no other feeling it gave me but curiousness, be that good or bad. And with each day passing, my curiosity grew. It had begun to form an itch that eventually sprouted a tumor. I ached.
Yet I couldn't know what I ached for. Was it to know what it was that stared back at me? Or to know what intentions that would ensue these encounters?
Still I waited. Perhaps I could have been building up to something, an apex of my dull life, something to give the least form of livelihood for which I long yearned. Days were gloomy as of late. Several weeks had passed before I could remember myself smiling. I now come to realize that the beginning of those weeks was when I had begun to notice that which waited through the trees. Perhaps my curiosity well accompanies my gloom; perhaps my curiosity is the cause. Nevertheless, I begged inwardly to know something of the nature. Yet still I forced myself to wait. I should assume that it was fear that kept me still, but I cannot recall feeling that primal emotion. Even if it was Death's eyes that I stared into, I would have wanted ensure myself. Fear even might have been coveted to a measure, so that I could feel something other than boredom and bleakness. I felt empty. Fear very well could have been welcomed.
It was not but more than week later that I had finally decided to discover what lied through the trees, for then I could wait no longer. My wonder had reached a dangerous point. I almost felt obsessed.
I stared one last time at the nothingness through the window for what seemed like hours. It almost sickened me, as if something tugged at my innards, either begging or insisting. Notwithstanding I felt as if my expectations were too high, that I would be overcome by a wave of dismay and disappointment, like finding the formless spot to be simply nothing at all or even some blurry face made of leaves and twigs. Doubt pressed me, but I forced myself to ignore it. I shrugged and took deep breath upon shaking on my coat and exiting the house. I looked onto the area that stretched about me. A small, graying field lay between my home and the street, where two children chased after a shaky beagle. I almost let out a short laugh, but remembered my task at hand.
Wow, I thought to myself. I almost smiled.
I realized then that I was smiling. It was not a broad one, but nonetheless bright; yet somehow it was sad. I felt the grin fall from my face in a slow, sullen motion. I remembered again what it was I set out to do.
What a task it seemed to me, an adventure; a vain journey across the lawn. Passersby could simply look over the way to find an old man trimming hedges or clipping twigs from his favorite tree, or cleaning out his shed. But it was not that at all, for it was too absurd and I was too obsessed. I never had gone much about this far side of my house, and I had gone less than few times to the shed. The trees through which I saw the form living ascended the sky, rising from behind the shed, neatly brushing against it. A cold wind picked up, and a scraping of wood and pine needles on metal met my ears. Strangely, it felt like music.
I looked into the trees imposing heights, feeling that it was up there where I could relieve my wonder and be once again happy. I began my climb up the tall pine tree. Needles brushed my skin, but I was unbothered by them. Energy drained from me, however odd it seemed for such a slow and short ascent. But alas, I am weak and weary. I reached closer and closer to the top, and as I finally reached my destination, I sat upon a long limb. I looked out into sky and saw the blistering clouds rolling across the waning blue. It was the most colorful day of the season. Atop all the gloom and dullness lay this fact, the fact that the sky's gray refused to yield. Now I had seen color to my drowning life. It was something which in my youth I missed, but eventually grew to ignore. It now stared me down with cold eyes, revealing to me my guilt; yet it also brought me warmth, revealing to me my satisfied wonder.
This was it, what waited for me and what I have been waiting for in return: something wondrous to behold.