A look out of the three windows from my downtown office is all about reflections. Real reflections, not my rambling thoughts, that is. I'm on a corner and look into a courtyard at the backs and sides of half a dozen buildings. Since reflective glass is now the norm every window stares back at me with a picture of yet another building or roof or satellite dish or antenna or air conditioning unit or balcony or brick wall or light fixture or flags or some kind of building equipment. In some cases it's a reflection of someone working on the roof of the building I'm in; he's walking about talking on his cell phone, arm akimbo, possibly concerned about the air conditioning unit he's standing beside. Occasionally some birds nose-dive through the space and are reflected multiple times, tripling their number. Of course, I can look upward and see a beautiful June blue sky with puffy white and grey clouds scudding westward. I get to see them twice too, as they are also reflected in all the upper story windows on the buildings around the courtyard. It's a mistake to think that a rear window has no views. And I haven't even started to try and think about this from a theological perspective.
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