Mountain High

Just the overnight bag this time, just a temporary displacement. We journey all the way to the top of the hill and it's a whole other world. In the east, the entire city spreads out below our feet, but when we go for a walk around the neighborhood, we could just as easily be in a tiny town miles away. Lush, green forests spread out; we climb a cliff and watch a low-hanging sun over swimming children in still waters. It's funny, I thought that was what I longed for: quiet nights close to nature, soft earth at my feet and silent air in my breath. But now that I have it, I miss busy streets and throngs of people, concrete shadows and unattainable calm. Run, run as fast as you can. The lack will catch up with you, anyway.

The sun sets late in the high rise at the top of the hill. A modest skyline lights up, the waters reflect their dark oil paints and the sky dances its peaches, its pastels. Last night's unrest heavies my eyelids. I lie down on a couch in a room full of windows. I am closer to heaven than ever.

I would trade it for concrete; I would.