How many times have I looked out of my bedroom window to dream of my future, pausing from homework to peer into the distant lives of others passing by?  It has been a frame for my thoughts, maybe blinds for my soul, and a glass for my own reflections.

The cherry blossoms and other gently shaped trees on the lawn outside our apartment complex in Queens, NY, sculpted by dozens of unknown hands, sway in a park where cloud-hopping birds and high-jumping squirrels come to rest from the stress of our concrete wilderness. I often look out of my window with hands on my chin, arms resting on my desk, daydreaming about the world.

Whenever it is the winter holidays, all of these trees sparkle as a huge pine tree plus a huge menorah get added to the entrance. The tree gets adorned with a glittering star atop, while the menorah sparkles and glows its blessings each night.  When snow falls as I watch from our fourth floor apartment, the sandy carpet of white covering the entire park completes the holiday picture, and the apartments are bathed in a soft, hazy light.

I adore my little bedroom window for illuminating my soul, standing between who I am today and who I dream of becoming tomorrow.

 (Stuyvesant High School, NYC)