When I was little, I'd sometimes look out the back window at nothing in particular. My mother said it ran in her family and called it "foxing," like a fox staring out of his den.
When I woke up in the morning I'd open my curtains and look out the window at our front yard. (We lived in a small town in New Brunswick and our front yard was pretty big.) In late September and October, the temperature would get cold enough for frost at night, and in the morning when I looked out the window I'd see a light white blanket over the green grass, which soon thawed. In hindsight, that's one of the things I miss most about life in New Brunswick.
When I first lived in Toronto, twenty years ago, I had a room in a house just south of the Wychwood Barns. Back then they stored their old buses and streetcars there and you could see them from the window. When they got rid of the electric trolleys, they all came there, too. The advantage of living there was that they patrolled the Wychwood Barns a lot, so the nearby houses were pretty safe from burglars.
Today, when I look out the window of the west side of my room, I see the tall tower of our neighborhood fire station. I've always wanted to climb that tower and see the view from the top. It's near St. Clair West, and I'm sure you can see the downtown skyscrapers from there. But I imagine I never will see that view.
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