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.