A Place for Things

I spent half an hour standing on top of a building in the dark, playing music for the wind and the birds riding it. I overlooked a landmark, a dozen stories in the air. I stared into the pulsing heart of a metropolis. Five months on and I’ll leave her for another city, but for half an hour she is mine and mine alone.

She kneels at the edge of the water and leans back against the mountains to look at the low clouds drifting overhead. She reaches up to take them but they only bump against her fingers before slipping through. The sensation of it draws a small smile from the corners of her mouth. As you approach you first hear her humming sleepily, the polyharmonics of her tune drift quietly into your eyes. Going closer you can smell strong coffee; You spin a little fantasy of the scent coming from her coffee colored, shoulder length, hair. Finally you’re next to her and, tired from the long walk, sit heavily in the sand creating a crater shaped just like you. You dip your toes into the water and she continues to hum. You rest your hand on the shoulder of her flannel shirt. She turns to you and without transition you wake on the forest floor staring into the deep green tapestry of canopy. The dream is already fading. A good yawn and a long stretch shake the rest of it from you as you set to making breakfast over the fire. You’ll pack up camp today then drive back to the city.