Old Maytag Dishwashers Replacement Panel

I would like a landscape.
Take my mug and sit on the edge of a window or in front of my desk before a window, a bay, a large glass that would allow me to be outside, inside. It
I have to be high. A slow curve. A hill like the Highlands, a landscape not aggressive. There would be ahead.
The horizon is mine. Or perhaps I should share with a remote, very distant white cube that would be another house.
I want my eyes caress those soft curves, with no barriers other than a tree, a large oak tree that lightning would never managed to find the middle of a field. A grove perhaps, those that turn red in autumn, those who contrast with the green and blue, with brown fields harvested.
If I sit at this table before this landscape, I see the seasons pass. A rainy day precedes the weather was great. A landscape after the rain has a higher intensity, brightness greater. Frayed clouds would fight against the wind that would drive them out. There the trees of the grove, I would hear rustling, movement of leaves, branches shiver. I might believe, merely to see them, they m'abritent, and that small drops still resting on the shiny leaves, will drop on the floor, on me. In my house, I have a little cold this moisture there, and I add me a sweater. A great sweater. Too big. A men's sweater and shapeless, which covered almost my hands. But the cup.
The winter course, there would be snow. I would not recognize anything, everything would be different. I would travel to another country, thanks to this insane landscape. My mind wanders, so that ideas germinate under my finger tap the screen. It would be almost magical. The snow that will print the words on my snow white page.
One day, birds chirping in the grass on the edge. They are colorful, noisy, I guess spring. Life would move my horizon, as if all the grass hills shuddered in unison. I seem to see blur.
I would like a landscape outside my window. It would be blue and I would open wide to feel the wind caress my hair, while a lemon juice let run its cool mist around the base of the glass, at the exact spot where lay my cup of tea, extending this circle, indelible force of the seasons.