Above the City

I am looking at an image from the Looney Tunes catalog that has wrangled me out of reality and into a dream.  This is being facilitated by listening to something on Apple Music called “Ambient Chill” through ear buds.  Follow me if you can.

I will float here for just a bit.  There is no fear, no vertigo, only a pregnant-now that swells with the sound of wind and rain.  Round dots of color are blooming on the street below as pedestrians open their umbrellas.  

They scurry along not knowing that I am watching them as God must from up above.  “Hello!  I love you!”  There is a strong smell of ozone and water on hot concrete all around, but then the whiff of a flower wafts through on a breeze.

How long will I stay in this state?  As long as I can.  As long as the image stays clear in my mind and the flow of formless music continues through my thoughts.  I believe the cottage on the roof of the building is mine.  I gladly claim it.

I descend to its door and stand on the flagstone path.  The smells now are of wet wooden shingles and a mild moldiness.  My heart expands and contracts in my chest, my body a bellows of melancholy memories.  “Mom?  Are you home?”

It is empty but there is a kettle steaming on a wood burning stove.  I find a cup in a cupboard and blow out the dust.  Further foraging reveals dried tea leaves in a tin that I dump into the kettle and allow it to steep while I explore the space.

A small cast iron bed sits against the wall under two windows with a green wool blanket tucked in and finished out with a white sheet folded over its lip.  A threadbare rug covers a good bit of the plank floor.  The tea is ready and I pour myself a cup.

Outside the cottage there is a side table and chair underneath a large umbrella.  I sit in its shade with my tea and look to the horizon from my high perch.  A bird lights on the edge of a window box full of flowers and fixes me with its gaze.

I sense the bird is a conduit of sorts and I open myself to communicate to and through it.  I feel myself surrendering to a deep flow of affection that is timeless and impossibly light.  As the bird launches into flight I follow it into the yielding air.

And land on this padded seat in a corner of the Physician’s Dining Room, my fingers tapping out these words as the dream recedes and others nearby talk boisterously about sports and politics.  It is a place of respite, but only in my mind.  

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