- Desirée Chouinard
My grandmother always told my sister charming tales of love in a Shakespearean manor. I overheard her from my bedroom upstairs where I fell asleep on the plush blue carpet. “The eyes are the window to the soul,” she placidly stated while complimenting my sister on her beauty. So I peeked out the window to find mine. As I lifted the web covered curtains that drew heavy and damp, I considered her right. Outside the window magnificent pines and vivid green ferns covered her two acres. It wasn’t till I found love that her tangled tales unwound and he saw through my window.