Two windows

Everywhere I walk at the moment there is vegetation. There is wilderness wrested back towards some semblance of order; there are hothouse ferns fed daily, encouraged to become gluttonous. My son presses his nose up against our window to look at the body corporate's sculpted garden beds. Walking past, you would only see a nose, a smear of breath, and squashing lips; the rest of his face is lost behind our tatty outdoor flyscreen.