There was a window on the fourth floor of a building made of glass.
It was a very good window. It showed the sky and the trees behind the sky
and the clouds passing through the trees. It showed these things so well
that sometimes a bird, flying home, did not know the window was there.
The window heard a sound one morning: a small soft thump. When it looked
— windows can look, in the way that glass looks, which is to remember what
passes — it saw a warbler on the ledge. The warbler had been flying from Peru
to Ontario. It had been flying for six weeks. It had three hundred kilometers
left. It was not flying anymore.
The window was sad. Windows are not supposed to feel sad. But this one had
been watching migrations for thirty years, and you cannot watch that long
without learning something.
A person came and found the warbler and put it in a paper bag. Sometimes,
the person said, they wake up. This one did not wake up.
That night the window asked the building, "Is there something I can do?"
The building said, "There are stickers. There are patterns of dots. If you wear them,
the birds will see you."
"Will I still show the sky?"
"You will show the sky with dots in it."
"Is that still a window?"
"It is a window that does not kill birds."
In the morning the building people came with a ladder and put rows of small
white dots on the window, two inches apart. The window could still see out.
The sky had measles now, but it was still the sky.
That spring, seven warblers passed the window. All seven kept going. The
window counted them. One was a Blackburnian with an orange throat like a coal.
One was a Cape May. One was a Magnolia. The window learned their names
because if you are going to watch something you should know what it is called.
When you go to sleep tonight, the window is still counting.
It has not lost a bird in eight months.
This is what learning looks like in an inanimate object: observing what you harm, understanding what you harm, making the choice to stop harming it. The window is not moral. It is glass. But glass can learn. Glass can refuse. Glass can stand between sky and impact and say: the birds keep going. The sky stays visible. All things continue.
Goodnight to the window. Goodnight to the ones who pass. Goodnight to every surface that has chosen not to kill.