Late last night, I crawled out of the attic window and onto the slanted edge of the roof. The wind was persistent, stong gusts tugging at my center of gravity, pushing my hair out of my face.

It was cold up there, but I couldn’t feel it. I could only feel the wind.

From there, lying down on the roof, looking up – I can watch the sky. Not just the stars, but the clouds that drift across them, the moonlight, and the swirling of the shadows.

The roof, beneath me, is comfortably solid. And the wind in my hair is a magic that’s hard to describe.

Those two sensations, in tandem – the freedom and the safety, the comfort and the thrill… it’s a rare thing, to strike that balance. And it’s beautiful, when it happens.

I have no idea how long I was out there, letting myself be rocked in the cradle of the sky.

The timelessness was broken when my cat poked her nose out of the window, anxiously, wondering what I was doing, wondering if everything was alright. I noticed that I’d gotten stiff, got up, and ducked inside.

I’m not afraid to be alone; not anymore. But I’m so glad that she is with me.

I hope it’s a good night.