landing · 9 panels · small angel, lily
put in by the second owner, who could not afford the workshop in town and so wrote to a workshop two counties over. the glass came on the milk train. one ruby quarrel cracked in transit and was leaded back together; you can still see the lead, like a scar that has decided to stay. the angel is no taller than a hand.
in the morning the east light lands on the wall opposite as a soft coloured map — a blue patch, an amber patch, a small ruby that climbs the wainscoting as the hour turns. children stand in the patch to be a different colour. a child once spent a whole Sunday in the blue. when there is no sun the window is only itself: an angel, joined hands, a lily, a border of lozenges.
there is no catch — the panels do not open. there is, however, a small iron grille in the landing wall above, which does, and which gets latched at night by whoever passes last on the way to bed. the angel does not need closing.
field-note · landing the ruby patch reaches the photograph of grandmother by 10.40. for thirty seconds her cheek is the colour of a pomegranate.