It is the same window. It has been the same window for nine years. The light has not changed, but I have, which means the light has not changed except in the only way it could.
This is the test, I think. Not whether you can find a new thing to be interested in — anyone can find a new thing to be interested in, the world is generous about that — but whether you can return to the same thing, the same place, the same hour of the same morning, and find it still worth your attention.
The light is doing what it does in June. Long, level, more orange than gold, the kind of light that does not flatter anything and therefore does not need to.
I have written about this window three times before. I will probably write about it again. That is part of the practice.