View From the Roof

Trees form a craggy horizon as they blend almost seamlessly with the cloudy sky. Light from a single floodlight sends dancing patterns over the asphalt, and the few stray cars clustered at the bottom of the driveway. In the near dakness, the tree looming above me appears naked for its early spring buds are rendered invisible by the hazy backdrop behind it. The air is heavy as the clouds threaten a downpour in the night. If I had no calender I would have no way to know if the night is one cold spring or a warm autumn. My fingers tremble ever so slighty in the cold, but I'm not tempted to return inside. It's bracing, refreshing. The music is soft enough that it allows me to be in contact with the rest of the world, but loud enough that it keeps away the demonns of the imagination in the darkness, the terror of a rustling bush that could be mistaken for an approaching figure, a monster of the mind. The roof is sloped in such a way that it feels like the whole world could be revealed beneath me, feels as if my very seat has the power to tip me into that mysterious world like a mother bird ushering its child from the treetop so it can spread its wings at last. Like the gentle hum of an alarm clock, coaxing me from my dreams, leading back into truth, reality. Life.