What appeals to me most is the stark cut-out shapes of bunting dangling from the window frame; cascading, caught in the bare branches of foraged dead wood from the garden.
These branches in turn point themselves like fingers into the frame, making the image seem more sinister than it really is - just an overcast winter's day.
The sky is washed out, busy processing clouds. This is not a black and white image, but in fact there is little colour so it looks that way.
It makes me think of Matisse - not for its lack of colour, but because each element looks to be cut out in paper - 'drawn with scissors' - then layered together to create this illusion of a crooked window with a tangled dark garden beyond. But there is light in the sky, slipping through gaps in the cloud. Light is always hope.
I like how the branches in the foreground intersect the trees in the background; the dimensions proving playful.
There is a simplicity too. Muted, focused priorities become clear. And that's what I need this week.
Thoughts come into my head, crowding in, more, more, more, and I need to make them line up like birds on a wire, the birds that sit on my washing line, observing the pecking order and waiting their turn. It happens in nature as a matter of life and death.
Know your place. Prioritise. Wait. Be patient.
So much can be learnt from the creatures around us. And windows are always synonymous with perspective.
Look through your window. Take a moment. Stop and pause. What can you see? Can you see the wood for the trees?
Find something beautiful and seek out the light.