Many windows line the walls of this big house. Small and large, looking upon trees, flowers, a field. This particular window is ample in size, with ruffled curtains framing it, and streaks of condensation remain from the night before. It looks on a large green lawn just below and to the right, and to the left a park-like garden. Out of the corner one can barely see the large lilacs, and off in the other direction you might catch a glimpse of a small deck, though cedar branches hide the bulk of it from view. Mountains off in the distance are freshly powdered in snow and you can only just perceive a road through the trees. A strong wind blows the tall trees back and forth and the clouds are starting to part, revealing the pale blue sky.
This is the writing window. During the winter it held little inspiration, but now that spring is coming the rambler sits at this window often, writing and pondering.