Nothing Could be Finer

I awoke yesterday morning, warm and snug and bathed in sunlight.  I stretched deeply (well as deeply as a nearly six foot body can in a bunk bed) and rolled onto my side to face the window.

I opened my eyes to gaze upon the sea of green just outside my window.  The leaves of the oak tree glistened as a fine mist fell from the sky.  My thoughts wandered as I took in the view.

“How lovely to wake up with a view like this.  I’d be cheerful every morning if the minuscule window in my tiny bedroom looked out at anything other than a brick lined air shaft.  It must be even more wondrous on a sunny day.  Sometimes I miss suburban life.  Damn it is good to be home.”

…and then a speeding form crashed into the window scarring the absolute bejeezeus out of me.  I toppled out of the bed onto the hard wood floor still screaming.  I cursed my earlier decision to not get up and pee at 3am.  When no further noises followed, I inched my eyes up over the edge of the bed and peered outside for evidence of an invasion.  A wet clump of feathers clung to the upper left corner of the window.

Maybe air shafts aren’t so bad after all.


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