From my living room couch I can look into my kitchen and see the glass door to my pantry. Just me, a cup of tea, my Bible, and God.
From this cozy spot I can either look through the window to the backyard trees, or glance at the glass pantry door and see a reflection of those same trees and flowering shrubs moving in the breeze.
Often this reflection in glass strikes me as a doorway to a magical place, giving me the same sort of feeling a favorite book does—like Heidi inviting me up to the Swiss Alps, or joining the children in The Secret Garden.
Like all authors, there's a strong streak of imagination to my inner person...