The dark outside makes the windows mirror. And the double panes reflects doubly, one that’s clear and another that is ghostly that appears over to the right and lower and slightly tilted. Like a double exposure. Like being drunk though I’m not sure I remember the double vision people claim to have. If I keep looking I might feel buzzed, but that could be the wine. I see cubist me. I see my husband washing dishes behind me reflected doubly in the window just beyond my computer. I see reflections of the arched windows behind me in the windows in front. The house is windows. All we do is look out. Let the light in. The moon cuts through the reflections. A finger nail with a French manicure. A tree branch crosses it. I watch its silhouette tremble. I love that, the tremble of trees. How if you look close enough they are never really still even on the stillest of days. There’s always a slight sway in the trunk or a limb or a leaf lifting just a bit as if waking and a bit curious. One tree will sway just a bit and then one just beyond it will move a little bit more and in another direction. Each of them mirroring but in their very own way.