Last summer, I spent a lot of time on my roof, with a comforter and an iPod dock and a paper filled with hardly thought-out scribbles and doodles. I rarely spoke to anyone on those nights. I imagine that my eyes were filled with the wonder of the stars and the moon and the planets, all aligned in a way that only comes around every thirty days. This was an activity I have not ever gotten sick of. I don't imagine I ever will. Sometimes, if the trees are just black enough, and the sky looks enough like Van Gogh's most acclaimed work, and your eyes are opened wide, well, it will knock the breath out of you.
And although you're not as enthusiastic at sharing this experience with me as I am, I'll show you. Just wait.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Yeah, there is something terribly powerful about an empty rooftop in a sleepy town.
I guess I never contemplated the heavens or the scenery. Just found my place in the chain of people that had also climbed onto their roofs that night and every other night.
Post a Comment