This is where I do my best thinking: seven feet off the ground on the roof of a dented dodge; one story up from doorsteps on silver- coated tar; leaning out windows with wind blowing the smell of growth and damp and something else I don't have a name for. Sometimes I am happy, and I sit in the darkness and just breathe, because I am alive and that is good. Sometimes I am not, and I cry tears that shine like the stars they reflect. Sometimes I search for the Milky Way. I never see it. Sometimes I am with someone else, and I say: Pleiades. Cassiopeia. Orion. Big dipper. Airplane. Mars. Sometimes someone shows me more than those. Sometimes I look down at the tops of bushes and neighbor's cats and I feel tall and wise. One time it rained, but I could still see stars. And I wondered: does the rain hit me sooner here? Does it feel cleaner? And I felt that there, in the quiet space between jumping and flying, I was one step closer to knowing.
Categories: S&R Literature, S&R Poetry
Aww…this is just beautiful! I can relate too. My favorite place is hidden away, looking down above everything.