The Room of Glass

In a lonely field, but not lonely so as to be sad, only very quiet and peaceful, there stood a beautiful house. Within this house, one of the rooms was made of glass. I cannot tell you who owned the house, for no one ever knew or asked the question, but I can tell you one person who lived there. A maiden dressed in chiffon, which seemed to change color from blue to white and white to blue depending on the light which surrounded her and what time of day it was, would go to the room made of glass. All around the room was a bending sea of tall, green grass, but not because it had never been tended to. On the contrary, it had been loved and played in. Children's laughter had rustled through it. No, it was kept tall so that the wind might swish herself through it, and so that as she swept, the trees would hear the song brushing from the floor the sky. Like tossing hair, gently it swayed outside the window, and the lady in glass room, tall and small and beautiful, with anticipation always upon her face, would dance. As the wind blew, her feet swept across the floor, and one could almost see the wind rush into the room itself. When it rained, the water cascaded over the glass, seeming to pour into the room and into the very soul of the maid who danced beneath the torrent. Though she danced in a room of glass, it was difficult to see her movements, for like a drop of rain or breath of wind she moved so quickly at times, and so slow at others that it seemed at times she did not dance, but she was always dancing. Even if only her eyes gazed, there was dancing behind them. And in her eyes, in her being, in her whole frame was an expectancy, anticipation, and waiting. And always when something caught her eye, her soul, she would look upward. Some said that she was waiting for the roof to undo, and for something extraordinary diminish the glass and carry her away to a further place where there stood a glassy sea, and smiles, and laughter, and song and dance awaited those who were found.