The views from the house in Mamaroneck always surprise me as a city dweller not used to looking out at gardens and trees. For some reason this time I became aware of a little more - the distortions of the views through old glass, their reflections caught in mirrors, diffused through lace curtains. The February light seemed to drive distorted pictures of the outside deeper into the house, abstracting them randomly on the glass of bookcases or framed artwork. There were ghostly apparitions of trees caught in the net of fabric shades. It felt like another dimension where the outside had actually seeped in.