The light lingers in coloured lines just above the horizon; though the clouds veil what is left of the blue sky.
The trees are lifeless, in wait for the warmth of spring. Twigs, like hundreds of fingers, reaching for the warmth of the sun.
The birds of daylight chirp their final songs before they rest in their perches up above the world.
The first light of stars peaks through the clouds.
As I look down I see the lights from houses and hear the distant rumble of traffic. It seems so out of place; so far away from my rooftop sanctuary.
The city lights from below call me home from the stars.
