There’s a window in the hallway of my house. Each time I pass, I stop and look out, over the wall, across fields, to the loch and up to the hills. Often, there’s an involuntary intake of breath as light and land co-create yet another amazing scene. Out of this window, I look to distant higher hills, nearly mountains, across the water, which will be the first to show snow on their tops.

This week I’ve noticed a red-berried hawthorn tree that sits in the middle of my view as part of a hedge dividing fields. One time I passed, the sun was catching the berries, making the tree glow red in the middle of our rain-washed, greener than green, fields. The rain clouds in the distance turned their part of the sky indigo. The contrasting light and colour worked together to make the glowing red tree centre stage through my square window.

This morning the window was messy in the morning light – dew and spiders’ webs on the outside and dust on the inside. I don’t do much cleaning. I leave things as long as is reasonably decent. The window, as a piece of housework, could have been left awhile. But this window also carries my view out to beauty and surprise – attending to it as it deserves in that role, I cleaned it with care, inside and out.

Everything, and everybody, in our lives has more than one role, is layered with use and history. Stopping and reflecting on these layers may change the way we respond to them.